


Pink like Spring

by Autumn_Ignited, SailUncharted



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop & Tattoo Parlor, Cultural Differences, Demi-Ace Keith, Demisexuality, Flower Shop Owner Lance, Fluff and Angst, Homophobic Language, Lance (Voltron) Has ADHD, M/M, Minor Violence, Opposites Attract, Past Drug Addiction, Racism, Recreational Drug Use, Southern Keith, Stimming, Tattoo Artist Keith (Voltron), West Coast Lance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-03-02 09:35:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 145,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23969221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Autumn_Ignited/pseuds/Autumn_Ignited, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SailUncharted/pseuds/SailUncharted
Summary: After a health scare, Lance's grandmother is no longer able to work her flower shop. Lance is the only Fuentes that can take over. But, in order to do so, he has to leave his California life behind: all his friends, the warm weather, and the ocean he loves, to move to the ass-backwards Southern town of Peach Springs with a population smaller than his old apartment complex.Even worse, everyone there wants to chatter on with small talk and expects him to talk back (but *slower*). Everyone, that is, except the rude tattoo artist across the street.All alone in a new town, surrounded by a culture he doesn't understand and everyone saying y'all all the time, Lance counts down the days until his brother can take over and he can go back to Cali for University. That is, until his heart gets stolen (by more than just the town) and he's torn between two worlds.(Updates on hahahaha we're just trying to survive the pandemic, we're doing our best, it'll get updated as much as we can)
Relationships: Keith/Lance (Voltron)
Comments: 286
Kudos: 576





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Autumn: Welcome back, y'all! If this is your first story with us, hi, we're glad to have you. As always, Keith is mostly written by me, Lance is mostly written by Sail. Fun fact: the first version of this story was the very first one we ever wrote together, back in July of last year when I hadn't even seen Voltron yet. Obviously it's gone through some overhauls since then, but it has a special place in our hearts for that reason.
> 
> This more or less came about from me being raised in the South, well aware of all its problematic flaws, but still deeply attached to my home and the small-town culture I was raised in. Equally, from West-Coast Sail being continually baffled by stuff I would say and vice-versa. I got into the habit of calling them 'West Coast' as a teasing nickname, and they labeled my aesthetic as "hay goth" and somehow that became this love letter to both of our cultures and how fun and nuts it is when they collide.
> 
> Peach Springs is, obviously, a fictional town, but it takes elements from where both of us grew up. Most everything has been renamed, but if you're reeeaallly curious, you might find a reference here or there to an actual location. I'd like to say the original characters bear no resemblance to anyone living or dead blah blah but they're shamelessly based on actual people, so. Whoops.
> 
> Sail: yo
> 
> [Here's the Spotify playlist for this one.](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/28mblVlFxNqeXvcMwDfe40?si=rjpSMyzsS-OmzB2M3YWdkQ) It's about a 50/50 blend of California and Yeehaw, as it should be. 
> 
> AMAZING art by [Rushire ](https://twitter.com/Rushire_art)Thank you SO MUCH <3
> 
> Our comms are open! [Check them out here uwu](https://linktr.ee/sailunchartedwaters)
> 
> Like what we do? wanna hang out with us on Twitter? [Autumn Ignited](https://twitter.com/AutumnIgnited) and [SailUnchartedWaters](https://twitter.com/SailUnchartd)

~🌸~ 

Lance swept the last bit of dust into the pan and emptied it out over the trash can. Tomorrow the first shipment of flowers would arrive, but today was all electrical work and housekeeping chores. He'd spent half the day setting up the register and creating the displays. Now, he was behind on the cleaning. At least the lights worked. 

It was good enough. 

The electrician had finished up earlier that day, telling Lance that he was lucky the store hadn't burned down. Apparently the last shop owner, before his grandmother, was siphoning power from next door and had bungled all the wires. 

Lance hopped up on the counter to look at his grandmother's shop. He should be starting university this year. Or last year. Or the year before. 

He flopped back, head hanging painfully off the edge of the counter, and stared at the empty shelves he still had to fill. 

If his grandmother hadn't gotten ill, he could at least be pretending to try to apply for university. 

"Just until Luis gets his shit together," he told the empty shop. "Then it's back to California." 

He sat up and the blood rushed to his head. Gripping the counter, he blinked away the brown closing in on his vision. 

"Ugh." There was still so much to do. The aquaponics and fish tanks needed to be installed as well as all the usual suspects found in a flower shop. It might be a little progressive for the south, but he hoped that his idea didn’t flop. He imagined the store overflowing with daffodils and roses next to ecological tanks to grow food. It was nice, except for how much fucking work it was going to be. 

He'd need to get a folding table and some chairs so he could host workshops. His plan wasn't just to sell flowers. No, he was going to bring this old shop up to date. Even if he didn't want to be here, it was still the family business and Luis was relying on him. They all were, including his grandmother, who had loved this shop almost as much as she loved her family. He’d spent half his visits with her in the backroom of this shop, coloring or making flower crowns. 

So, right. For Abuelita, he’d need to figure out how to make people buy flowers for more than prom and ‘I’m sorry.’ Hence the aquaponics. It was a pricey startup, but in this day and age, who wouldn’t want a little farm right above their pet fish? 

Lance swung his legs, hopping down. His grandmother had left him with one task while he was setting up shop: deliver her prized hydrangeas to the jewelry shop across the street. Apparently her and - who was it again? Emily? Adaline? Whatever - were grandma besties, and he was the new delivery boy of their friendship. He grunted as he hefted the potted monstrosity with its giant pink blossoms into his arms. It wasn’t such a bad errand, Lance was happy to have an excuse to check out the other retailers in the area. 

He set the plant down as he locked up the shop that he’d dumped his college savings into. It would be okay. He’d earn it back, his family promised him. All the profits not needed for the store would go back into his college fund. All he had to do was...work for it. He could do that.

The money also meant a facelift for the shop. He paused to admire the storefront. It was exactly like his sketches, painted Paris blue with antique accents and a matching awning. Gold letters spelled out  _ Nemo’s Garden  _ in cursive across the window. It was...a bit of a burden if Lance wasn’t lying to himself. But he’d be fine; everything was fine.

Well, except for the state.

Leaving sunny California for Peach Springs, a middle of nowhere town that sat smack dab in the middle Bible Belt was not...ideal. Actually, that was an understatement. If this was the last place on Earth and it was either move here or die, he’d happily welcome death. Lita was lucky he loved her so much.

At least being temporary owner meant that he got to rebrand.  _ Fuentes Flowers _ just didn't have that insta-pop the shop needed to take off. No, Nemo’s Garden was much more exciting and fresh. Plus with the new paint job, the store now looked like the most chic place to be on the block. If there was a contest for best looking store (and who knows, that seemed like just the kind of thing shitty little backwater towns like this might get excited about) he'd win hands down. 

Unlike that sketchy eyesore across the street. The ugly thing was painted all black for some impossible reason. No, it  _ definitely _ would be voted off the island. 

The runner up would be the small cafe that looked like it was stuck in the nineties, or maybe the jewelry shop that advertised their Etsy in chalk, the one his hydrangeas were bound for. Heck, even the art theater that was currently playing some B movie Lance'd never heard of was at least interesting, if a bit kitschy. He liked the stone dinosaur out front. It was a nice touch.

It was that tattoo parlor, that biker's wet dream, that needed to go. 

The hydrangeas were slipping from his fingers, and he bounced the pot to get his grip.  _ Scope out competition later, _ he told himself,  _ deliver giant pot full of flowers now. _ Once his errand was over, he could finally go home to his new little apartment whose only redeeming factor was that it was within biking distance.

Vision obscured by flowers and leaves, Lance cut across the street. He’d take the back alley around to the jewelry shop. If he remembered correctly from his visits before, there should be a path that led straight to the back door. Turning into the space between the ugly-ass tattoo parlor and the cafe, he dodged dumpsters and trash cans as he walked half-blind. 

He was almost to the shop when he heard the scraping of feet on dirt and raised voices. Lance froze. He’d thought the back alley would be safe in a tiny town like this. It wasn’t like he was walking in downtown Sacramento. 

Right. It was fine. Probably just some shop owners out for a smoke break. 

Tightening his grip on the pot, he pressed forward, ignoring the warning bells in his head.

“ - ook man, if you’re not happy, we’re chill. Money back guarantee and all that, yeah? I go my way, you go yours, everybody leaves satisfied.” The voice sounded young. Younger than most of the old people who actually owned these shops. A dude around his age give or take.

“Not how it’s gonna work,” said another voice - gruffer, deeper, definitely meaner. “Your pansyass is gonna have to make up for trying to cheap out on us. Gotta leave you with something that’ll help you remember next time.”

Lance froze. He’d been wrong; that was definitely  _ not _ shop owners on a smoke break. He should’ve just listened to himself.  _ Shit, shit shit. _ He could turn around, leave as quietly as possible, and hopefully go unnoticed. Standing on his tiptoes, Lance tried to see over the plant in his arms. The only problem was that the plant went with him. From between the leaves, he could see a couple of guys trapping someone much smaller than them up against a brick wall. The poor kid’s feet dangled in the air as the punk held him up by his shirt. It was all very classic-movie-bully; almost as if Peach Springs was trying to add a flair of Hollywood to itself. Lance didn’t appreciate the gesture.

_ Welp, Lance, time to get the fuck out of here,  _ he told himself and turned.

“Hey!” 

Lance jumped, spinning back around. Rustling leaves got in his mouth and potting soil spilled onto the dirt as he tried to catch his balance.

Another voice, raspy and definitely pissed, chimed in as a fourth person appeared from around the far corner, side-stepping a trash can and zeroing in on the tallest of the bunch.

The newcomer was a guy around Lance’s age, long black hair in a low ponytail with a couple of piercings to accent the leather biking jacket he wore. His thick eyebrows were narrowed and he hed definitely perfected the whole ‘don’t fuck with me’ vibe, even as he strode forward with the clear intention of fucking with someone. 

The two bigger guys hesitated, the tall one pulling back just enough to snap at him. 

“Not your business, Kogane. Walk away and we’ll let you go.”

The boy stepped closer, putting himself directly in front of the skinny kid, nose to nose with the taller of the two meatheads. 

“Don’t think so,” Biker Jacket said dangerously. “You’ve got three seconds.”

“You think you can just come here and -”

“ _ One,”  _ the boy said as he flipped out a wicked looking switchblade. Lance hugged the pot, the terracotta biting into his hands. He did his best impression of a wall as he stepped back. This had been a very-very- _ very _ bad idea.

Thankfully, that seemed to make the other two nervous enough that they backed off with matching scowls. 

“This ain’t over,” the taller one called over his shoulder, but they turned tail and jogged away. 

Biker Jacket flipped his knife closed and pocketed it before turning to the scrawny boy against the brick wall. “You okay, man?”

“Hell yeah dude! That was awesome. Thanks, Keith. I owe ya.”

The boy - Keith, apparently - shook his head. “Go home. Your mom’s looking for you.” 

“Can do, my friend.” The scrawny boy patted Keith’s shoulder and jogged off in the other direction. Keith watched him go before turning around to come face-to-plant with Lance. His violet eyes narrowed. 

Lance blinked up at him from behind the foliage. From this close Lance could see how absolutely striking his eyes were; deep purple that was flecked with black and blue... and lined with dark circles. It was like even his eyes were trying to contribute to the bad-boy lifestyle. 

“Nothing to see here, Flower Boy. Best go about your business.”

Wow. As if Lance hadn’t been trying to do exactly that. He didn’t look at Mr. Gang Fight Aesthetic as he hefted the pot up to put a wall between them. Striding past, Lance power walked to the jewelry shop. 

Heart pounding, Lance pressed the back door open with his hip. It closed behind him with not one, but  _ several _ , tinkling chimes. The shift between the oily, rotten trash smell of the alley and the thick smog of incense was so intense, it gave him a headache. He leaned against the door, willing his heart to calm down. There was no way he’d really stumbled across a back alley street fight on his first day in Downtown, USA. Calming his breath, he shook his head.  _ Drop off the plant and go home, _ he told himself, swallowing his fear.

Lance took a deep breath and tried to sound cheerful as he called out, “It’s Mariposa’s grandson from the flower shop! She wanted to give you this.” He really hoped that the shakiness in his voice was his imagination.

“I’m in here, honey, come on in!”

The jewelry lady, whose name escaped him, was bent over a small table, peering through a stationary magnifying glass as she twisted wire with a pair of needle nose pliers. When she looked up at him, she had an equally magnifying pair of glasses on that made her eyes uncomfortably large. 

“Lance! Look at  _ you _ , honey, my you’ve grown!” Her voice was piercing and squeaky, like a hungry baby bird. “You were no higher than a sack of potatoes when last I saw you. Come in, come in, I’m just finishing up.” 

“No, it’s fine. I’m just here to drop this off.” He had smoky memories of this place but he was pretty sure it’d gotten smaller over the years. In his head, he remembered it much bigger, more mysterious, less cheap. “Tell me where you want it.”

“Ooh, what is it? Is that from Mariposa?” The lady stood up from her chair shakily, grabbing a nearby cane to hobble over and inspect his cargo. “Oh isn’t she sweet. Right by the window, I think. There’s a dear. How is Mari? Enjoying her retirement? Knowing her, she’s just chomping at the bit to get back to work.” 

“Yeah. Haven’t really gotten a chance to see her after my first day.” God, he hated this. He didn’t even know this lady and his headache was starting to make him nauseated. Without a plant to hide behind, the need to leave was making him bounce as he eyed the exit. 

“Aw, well you tell her Emmeline sends her love.” Right. That was her name. Emmeline smiled up at him with her enormous eyes, a new-age praying mantis politely trapping her prey. “Would you like some tea or coffee? Or some fresh pear juice? Made it myself this morning!”

“That's...lovely. Look, I gotta get going. I didn’t lock up the shop before I left. Hands full and all.” He held up his hands, plant-less, as if that explained everything. “You have a nice day and I’ll let my grandma know you liked it.” He took a step toward the front door.

“Oh, you don’t need to worry about that, love. No one’s going to break in or anything.” She flapped her hand at the little table. “Please, I insist, as a thank you!” 

“I don’t know about that. There were some dudes out back. One had a knife.” 

Emmeline frowned. “How’s that? What sort of ‘dude?’”

Lance shrugged. “Scary; with leather and piercings, that sort of thing.” He left out  _ enchanting eyes  _ since it was overruled by  _ wielding a knife. _ “A whole gang trying to beat up this other guy.” He clamped his mouth shut at her wide eyes. 

Oops. Probably shouldn't have said anything.  _ Let’s try to not scare your grandmother’s best friend into an early grave, _ Lance scolded himself. 

“Goodness.” Emmeline blinked in surprise. “Though that does sound an awful lot like Keith down the way. Long hair, lots of piercings, tattoos?” As she asked, she circled around behind her counter and disappeared as she bent down, reappearing with a plastic jug holding some sort of cloudy liquid. 

“Yeah, I think they called him Keith.” Oh man did he want to leave, but she seemed to know more about what happened than he did, and he was there. Oh well, he was stuck there anyway and there was no denying he was curious. 

He took a step further into the shop, hovering next to a display of crystals. “Wasn’t just him though.”

“Oh, well, then.” For some baffling reason, the news that there were multiple aggressors seemed to relax Emmeline instead of alarm her. She smiled as she poured him a misshapen, obviously handmade mug of juice. “I wouldn’t worry, dear. Keith looks very intimidating, but he’s a gentle sort, really. He’s always helping out when I can’t carry things. If he was there, I’m sure it was just some sort of...of tattoo club or something like it.” 

“A tattoo club…” Lance repeated dubiously. He wasn’t sure if she was making that up because she was old, or if that was a real thing they had in the South. Either way, he was pretty sure that had been a back-alley fight and not any kind of friendly little yeehaw get-together. Still, he didn’t want to scare an old lady. “I’m sure that was it.” He took a sip of mystery liquid from his malformed mug. Oh no, this stuff was nasty. “This is good,” he lied with an easy smile.

“Oh I’m so glad you like it!” She beamed at him and reached up to pat his shoulder. “You have as much as you want.”

Lance nodded and put his full mug down on a counter. “Thanks.” The fight from outside wouldn’t leave his mind. Abuelita always spoke about Peach Springs as if it was some kind of paradise. She’d definitely never said anything to indicate it might be dangerous. “Does Keith usually start fights in back alleys?” 

“I can’t imagine so.” Emmeline shrugged. “The boy’s just as polite as you please. Though he does get picked up by the police from the next town over every now and then.”

"I knew it," Lance muttered under his breath. "Just be careful for real, yeah? My Lita really likes you." He tapped the counter twice. "Thanks for the juice, but I really gotta go." 

“Any time! I always have it on hand.” She smiled wide again, apparently blissfully unbothered by the reality of local violence. “You take care now, and come visit me anytime you like.”

“Sure.” He waved as he left, with no intention of going back unless required to. Hanging out with old ladies in headache-inducing incense smoke was not his idea of a good time. He took a wide berth around the street, careful to not even look in the direction of the alleys. Everyone else here might be too stupid to understand danger, leaving their doors unlocked and accepting candy from strangers, but there was no way Lance was going to take a risk like that again.

~🌸~ 

The full shipment of supplies arrived the next day. Everything he needed to set up the self-cleaning and plant-watering tanks, all his pallets of flowers and the potted shrubs that the plant police would have his ass for if he didn’t display correctly. It was...a lot. He didn’t want to do it. 

Unfortunately for Lance, it was very hard to get himself to do anything he didn’t want to. 

So he hopped up on his favorite spot on the counter, the one he’d been sitting in since he was in diapers, and pulled out his phone. 

[8:34 AM] Hunk, make me do the work :(((

**Hunkasaurus [8:37 AM]:** Dude. It’s 5:30 in the morning

[8:38 AM] Oh shit. It is. No wonder I wanna go back to bed... Still   
Make me work, plz??? I can’t go on, I’ll die

**Hunkasaurus [8:40 AM]:** I believe in you. Fight the good fight. Plant the good plants. Now I’m going back to sleep 

[8:41 AM] Nooooo    
Hunk   
Hunk   
Hunk, bro

[8:52 AM] Bro, I’m gunna to die

Given that his phone did not light up again after that, Lance had to assume that Hunk had committed the ultimate betrayal and put his phone on silent. They would need to have a chat about the bro code, and how it was affected by distance. Hunk had a _ job  _ to do, which was to remind Lance that sane people did exist - they just existed in a time zone three hours behind him. 

So Lance slid off the counter, moped for another thirty seconds, and got to work.

He’d managed to at least get all of the filters running in the tanks when, across the street, there was a loud rumble entirely too intrusive for that time of morning. A motorcycle, some kind of redneck Harley contraption, guttered to a stop in front of the tattoo shop across the street, and some guy in a leather jacket put down the kickstand and cut the engine. When he tugged his helmet off, the messy ponytail gave away that this was the same dude Lance had seen the day before. Keith, apparently. Back alley knife fighter and, according to his Abuelita’s friend, a real swell guy all around. 

Keith ran a hand through his ponytail, making it a thousand times worse, and then scrubbed at his eyes with the knuckles of one hand, which, of course, had fingerless leather gloves. He dismounted with a wide yawn, then shook his head as if to clear it, or wake up. 

Then he looked up and down the street, pulled a bent coat hanger from the inside of his jacket, and started finagling it in to the store’s lock.

Uh.

UM.

Lance blinked. He’d seen more crime on this tiny street in two days than he had in his whole life at Long Beach. And so far, it’d all revolved around this dude. 

Wow. He was really watching someone break into a store with a coat hanger. Again, he found himself feeling like an extra in a movie.

Now, normally Lance wouldn’t wish the cops on anyone, not even his worst enemy. If he had Hunk with him, he’d go confront the guy without getting evil cops that would probably murder someone involved. 

Lance fingered his phone. If he didn’t, then the shop would get broken into, and while he didn’t think there could be much in the way of valuable shit inside a tattoo parlor, his shop could be next. He knew for a fact that the guy had a knife on him. So, it was either let this happen and not get stabbed, or call the cops and risk someone’s life. 

The cops couldn’t be as bad as they were in California, right? Maybe here they were just cop-cops and not the murder kind...

Lance pulled out his phone and dialed the non-emergency number after a quick Google search. Keith evidently wasn’t very good about breaking and entering, because he was still at it as Lance’s phone rang.

“Ewell County police station.”

“Uh. Hey. I’m like, watching someone break into a shop across the street. So.”

There was shuffling on the other end and the voice returned, definitely more awake. “A robbery? What’s the address, Sir?” 

_ Sir, _ as if Lance was forty with a wife and kids. Oh wait, he’d asked for something. “Uh.” Shit, where was he? He didn’t know his apartment address, let alone the store’s. Lance stumbled back to the counter, moving the phone to his other ear. “One sec, I’m not sure.” He found the bill for the electrician and thankfully, it had his address. “12 Main Street, but like, the other side, the tattoo shop. I’m the flower shop, at 12.”

“...Oh.” The voice said. “ _ Ooooh.  _ Sir - the person breaking in, can you describe him for me real quick?”

"Sure?" That seemed pretty normal, but shouldn’t he be asking later and sending someone over now? Lance jogged back to the window and squinted. "Bad hair, jacket that screams he thinks he's really cool, tattoos and wow, tight pants." 

Now the voice sounded amused. “By bad hair...meaning it’s long? Past the shoulders? Black?”

"Like he hasn't figured out that it's not the eighties anymore." 

“Ahuh. We’ll send someone right over, Sir. Don’t worry.” 

“Yeah, but-”

The phone beeped and Lance stared at the call-end screen. “He has a knife…” Lance said as the screen went black. That was...odd.

Lance tried to shrug it off. He should get back to work. Mind his own business. But he’d just called the cops on someone and he’d  _ never _ done that before. Biting his thumbnail, he watched as the Keith dude threw down his coat hanger and went digging in his bag. Right there, in the middle of Main Street, in broad daylight.

Where was the owner of this shop anyway? Oh shit, maybe he should’ve called the shop instead, found the owner’s number and let them know instead of the cops. In the middle of beating himself up, flashing lights from down the way had both him and the burglar frozen.

Rather than pull out his weapon or run away or any of the things one might expect from someone caught trying to break and enter, Keith just seemed - well, it sort of looked like he rolled his eyes. He stuffed the coathanger back into his jacket and crossed his arms as he waited for the cop car to roll up. 

The cop who got out wasn’t old, maybe like mid to late thirties, even if his white hair might indicate otherwise. He was chuckling, too, as he casually strolled over and gave Keith a thump across the back so hard it sent him stumbling forward. They argued for a minute - or rather, Keith argued, and the cop just laughed him off. They both turned to look his way and Lance ducked. When he had the courage to peek over the windowsill again, the cop was pulling a ring of keys off his belt hook and just. Unlocked the door. Just like that. 

At least no one got hurt, but-

Keith rolled his eyes again and said something that made the cop tug him in for a forced side hug. Then they parted; Keith went inside and shut the door, and that was that. The cop glanced up and must have caught Lance watching through the window, because he smiled and crossed the street, knocking at his front door. 

“Oh shit.” He tried to duck again, realized that his shop was open, and sprinted for the door. It opened with a bell singing merrily above the cop’s head. Lance skidded to a halt before he crashed head-first into the officer.

“Good morning,” the cop said, smile never dwindling. 

“Uh, morning.”

“I’m Officer Shirogane, and I think you were the one who called in?” At Lance’s slow nod, he continued, “Just wanted to let you know everything’s fine, nothing to worry about. He wasn’t breaking in; he just forgot his keys.  _ Again.  _ Probably won’t be the last time you see him trying to avoid going back for them or calling me to come over.” 

Oh, no. Now he felt like an idiot. “Yeah, okay. Sounds good. Just, trying to be a good neighbor. That’s what you do out here, right?”

Officer Shirogane chuckled. “That’s the idea, and hey, it’s appreciated. You did the right thing - for you, the neighborhood, and, incidentally, for Keith. By the way, you’re Lance, right? Mariposa’s grandson?”

He was never going to get used to that. It’d be nice if someone didn’t actually know  _ his name _ when he didn’t know  _ theirs _ . “Yeah, Lance.” He rubbed his arm, shifting. The officer was kinda intimidating and Lance didn’t make a habit of hanging around cops for lots of obvious reasons. This was his punishment for calling; next time he’d just let the place get broken into.

“Well hey - nice to meet you and welcome to the neighborhood. Call me Shiro.” 

_ I won’t be calling you at all, _ Lance thought, but nodded.

Shiro took a step back and held a hand up to wave. “I’ll let you get back to work, but thanks again for calling. And say hi to your grandma, would you please? We all miss her, but happy you’re here.” 

_ You don’t even know her, _ he wanted to say. “Sure,” Lance said instead. Everyone talked about Abuelita like they were her family, but they weren't. It irked him in ways he didn’t really understand himself. Part of it was that apparently his grandma had this whole other life outside of the family. When she was home, or when they were visiting, she was  _ his _ Abuelita. She was a kind-hearted but formidable woman who had never lost her Cuban accent even after all these years in America. A woman who knew how to roast plantains until they became a dessert, and who had magic fingers that made any scrape feel better if she was the one applying the bandage. 

But now, here, she was ‘Mariposa’. And it hurt to realize that Lance had no idea who that was when an entire town spoke about her like an old friend. 

As if he didn’t feel enough like an outsider already. 

“Great.” In what was probably the most ludicrous part of this whole experience yet, Shiro held his hand up to his hair and honest-to-god went through the motion of tipping an invisible hat. “You have yourself a nice day now,” he said and, mercifully, left. 

What the actual fuck was that? 

Everything from the tattoo-gang guy breaking into, apparently, his own place, to the weird cop - all of it. It was like he'd stepped into the Twilight Zone. 

Lance bounced a couple times and let out a loud sigh.

Okay. No more bad mullets and uncomfortably friendly cops. He had aquascaping to do.

Aquascape, grand opening, and then back home to California where everything made sense and no one tipped invisible hats. He could do this. 

~🌸~ 

Lance flopped in bed, eyes dragging shut even as he opened his texts.

[9:45 PM] Dude.

In two days there’s been an actual gang fight, some lady made me drink like moonshine or id even k and then the same guy in the gang tried to break into the store across the street. 

Already sick of this crazy shit hole nowhere place

I miss you

I really wanna fucking come home 

**Hunkasaurus [9:48 PM]** Whhaaaaaat. Oh shit dude. Call me in a sec and tell me everything

Lance flipped so that he could rest his chin on the pillow and pressed Hunk’s contact. He bit his nail, smiling as he waited for Hunk to pick up. He didn’t have to wait long, Hunk’s smooth, deep voice answered. He sounded like home and Lance’s smile strained as he tried not to cry.

~🌸~ 

Lance parked his bike in front of the shop and locked it up. Today was the grand opening of Nemo’s Garden. Every plant was in place and every order was accounted for. He’d done it. One step closer to earning back his college fund, and leaving. He could already taste the brine in the air. 

Bike nice and safe, Lance pulled out his keys. With one hand he unlocked the door, while the other checked the mail. He stuffed his keys in his pocket as the door shut behind him with the jingle of a bell.

Bill, bill, spam, bill, bill…

That was a lot of bills. He looked closer: two electric, two water, two gas and a coupon for Pizza Bistro. He tossed the coupon and examined the rest. The ones that weren't his were addressed to some Keith Kogane. Who? 

Lance hopped on the counter and called up the electric company, staring at the white envelope as it rang. 

“South Electric, this is Karen. How may I assist you today?” Her voice slurred on each consonant and rolled under every vowel as she stretched the words as far as they could go, making the whole introduction take two whole years.

That was odd. Where was the press nine for Spanish? Why had a person answered instead of a computer? He was a little upset that he didn’t get to talk to a Spanish speaker; they were always more helpful. 

“Yeah, so. I got this bill and it’s not mine. It says it’s addressed to Keith. I’m not Keith. Can you get the address fixed?”

“I’m sorry, sir. Can you talk a little slower?”

Lance held his breath as she spoke her words in the slowest possible way, his words on the tip of his tongue waiting to spring out. Annoyance and frustration began to build in his chest. She wanted slow? Fine. 

“I- got- this- bill- and- it’s--  _ not-- _ mine. Can- you- fix- the- address?”

“I’m sorry to hear that, sugar. I’ll getcha fixed right up. What’s the account number?”

He flipped the envelope over in his hands. “I dunno. It’s illegal to open mail that isn’t yours so-- Can’t you just look him up and mark him for a bad address?”

“I’m sorry, sir. Can you repeat that a little slow--” Lance hung up. Ugh, if there was one thing he hated, it was talking slowly. No one had time for that. Not to mention all the ‘sir’s’. He was all sir’d out, thank you very much. If he had to be called sir one more time--

Taking a deep breath he tried to find his zen.

When he opened his eyes, he shuffled through the bills again and again, cursing the post office with every flip. He was supposed to open in a half hour and he still had some rando’s bills. His zen was not found.

Wait a second. Keith? Wasn’t that knife-wielding Eighties reject Keith? No, oh no. There was no way he was going to risk his life over a few bills. Whoever this was could have their electricity shut off for all he cared.

“Sorry, Keith,” he said to the mail and tossed it to the side. 

He didn’t have time for this. He had a grand opening to attend to.

After five hours of grand opening, Lance was very done with Southern Hospitality. Every grandma in a fifty mile radius had told him he was a handsome boy and that his shop was lovely and then proceeded to go into detail about their hospital visits and acute illnesses. Not to mention he’d been told by almost every customer that it was unnecessary to chain up his bike outside like that. Each and every time, he patiently explained that it didn’t matter if it wasn’t necessary, it made him feel better when it was being protected by metal chains. They’d all made the same face, as if he didn’t trust  _ them _ personally. 

It wasn’t his fault he’d grown up learning to lock his doors, bike, and car. Though, he didn’t have a car anymore. It wasn’t his fault that this stupid town was full of knife-wielding gang members and their leader was a couple hundred feet away. There was no way he’d let that Eighties hair nightmare pinch his bike because _Peach Springs_ _is a safe town._ He huffed, blowing the hair from his eyes.

~🌸~ 

As he waved a customer out the door, still cringing at her knee surgery story, he leaned back against the shelves with a sigh. The pile of mail at the corner of the counter caught his eye. Unfortunately for Lance, the mail carrier was determined that this was Keith’s shop. Day after day spam, junk mail, and bills for  _ Keith Kogane  _ piled up on the edge of his counter. It got to the point that customers were eyeing it as they checked out. 

“You know,” a little old lady had said as she collected her bouquet. “I think that’s mail for the shop across the street. I could take it over if you like?” Lance had refused and handed her change. She eyed him like he was a thief.

He frowned at the stack and wondered if he was. 

Well, she’d said it was mail for the shop across the street, not biker knife boy. That cop just said that Keith  _ had _ keys, not that he, like,  _ owned  _ the shop. Could criminals even own shops? Maybe this town had two Keiths. It was possible. It might have nothing  _ but _ Keiths. Lance didn’t fucking know how small towns worked. 

Squaring his shoulders, he gathered up the mail. Time to be a good neighbor.

Locking up, he jogged across the street and eyed the store. The tattoo parlor was probably once something much more reputable, but was now painted all black with a black awning and a neon green sign.  _ Area 51 _ , the sign said, and...that was about it for signage. It was as friendly and welcoming as a funeral home. 

Well, there was a cat in the window. That was something at least. 

Lance tried to peek through the window. He wasn’t even sure if the shop was open since it didn’t have an open sign in either neon or plastic. Or posted hours. Or anything that any sort of reputable business ought to have right upfront. 

Well. There was a small doorbell to the right. 

_ Please be a nice, old grandpa, _ Lance repeated as he pressed the button. He bounced on his toes as he waited.

To pass the time, Lance looked up at the sky.  _ Trapped _ was the only word to describe the feeling he got from doing so. Trees strangled the skyline and there wasn’t a single clear view of a mountain. Trapped, lost, and disoriented. His brain craved to feel open again. 

It took another bell press before it opened and a wild head of hair peeked out. The dude held a cup of coffee almost the size of his face with the words MOTHMAN SEARCH TEAM: POINT PLEASANT, WEST VIRGINIA on it in broad letters. His shirt hung off one shoulder and the tag was sticking out of the front. He leveled Lance with a cold, unblinking stare from dark-circled eyes. 

_ Not a grandpa.  _

Slow recognition dawned over Lance. He stared wide-eyed, mouth agape, at Knife Keith. He didn’t think; he didn’t scream. He just threw the mail and ran. It was his mail now and his problem.

The keys fumbled in his fingers as he unlocked the shop. Lance dropped the keys once and cursed before he got the door open. He slammed it shut, locking it and leaning against the solid wood.

Hand over his heart, Lance tried to calm it down.

“Shit.” 

He’d almost  _ died _ . Lance slid down the door and settled on the floor. Grabbing his phone, he opened up his texts to Hunk.

[12:16 PM] OMG I almost died

Lance hit send and let the phone fall to his lap as he stared up at the cracked ceiling.

**HUNKASAURUS [12:18 PM]:** DUDE WHAT ARE YOU OKAY

So Lance spent the next twenty minutes explaining why he was decidedly NOT okay, but was, miraculously, still alive. Hunk, because he was the World’s Best best friend, did the texting equivalent of nodding and listening intently. When Lance was done, Hunk expressed his love and his desire for Lance to come home soon, safe and unshanked. And wow did Lance ever feel the same. 

The mail system was immune to his distress. Heartlessly, he kept receiving Keith-from-across-the-street’s mail, who by now he’d decided was most likely the same Keith as Knife Keith. So every day, Lance ran across the street, rang the bell, threw down his mail, and ran back before anyone could manage to open the door. 

This was sustainable, right? About as sustainable as any other part of living in this one-zipcode hell hole.

He’d been wrong. 

Maybe his timing was off. Maybe Knife Keith - probably some kind of camo-wearing deer hunter on the weekends - had set a trap. Either way, his luck ran out on a Monday. 

He rang the bell and was about to throw the mail, but instead was met with a pair of unamused lavender eyes. 

“Hi,” Knife Keith said, in that tone of voice that said ‘this is the necessary polite precursor to what I actually want to say’, which was, “Any particular reason you keep ding dong ditching my mail?”

So, of course, like a reasonable adult human being that he was, Lance threw the mail in Keith’s face. Honestly, he was halfway through the action by the end of Keith’s sentence and there was no stopping as the envelopes and pink slips fluttered to the ground. “Sorry,” he squeaked, feet ready to run and eyes sliding down to where Keith had pulled his knife from so many days ago.

Above him, Keith sighed. “I mean, it’s fine, but why - oh shit. Red! No! Get back here!”

Something black and fuzzy had slithered around Lance’s legs and was darting across Main Street towards his shop. Keith pushed past Lance, chest brushing against his arm in the cramped space. He glanced around quickly for cars, then jogged across the street.

Lance froze from fear, but when he realized what was happening, he bounced a few times and followed. If there was one thing Lance would not stand by for, it was animals in danger. Escaped cat running across the street was more important than worrying about hot boys with switchblades. 

He was pretty useless. By the time he made it across the street, Knife Keith already had the wiggling black furball in his arms. It was almost howling as it reached for Lance’s shop door. 

Lance jogged to a halt in front of them. "Did you get him?" he asked, despite seeing Keith holding it. 

“Yeah, sorry about that.” Keith struggled to bundle the cat up more efficiently in his arms, but it had gone full liquid out of protest and was having none of that. He finally settled for carrying it on its back like an unhelpful, void-colored baby. “I’ve had a hell of a time trying to keep her from bothering you.”

"Me?" Lance inched towards his door. He could make it, but he wasn't sure if he could lock Keith out in time. Keith looked pretty strong, no Hunk, but at least able to shoulder his way through a door. "Look. I'm not trying to steal your cat or get in your way, so…" 

Keith’s face relaxed as he - well, it was quiet, mostly breath - but it sounded like a laugh. 

“Other way around, I think. Mrs. F used to leave treats out for her every morning, so she’s been furious that I haven’t let her come by.” 

"Treats?" Lance looked him up and down, then asked too loudly, "For you?" 

“Um,” Keith replied, brow raised. “For my  _ cat _ , yeah. This is Red. And I guess we haven’t actually been properly introduced, but I’m Keith.” He juggled Red over into one elbow so he could hold out his hand. 

Lance eyed it. "You're trying to tell me that - No, there's no way  _ my _ sweet grandmother was consorting with biker gangs. Cat or no cat." 

Now Keith was really frowning. “ _ Biker gangs _ ? You mean  _ me?" _

"I don't see anyone else in a leather jacket around here, do I?" And okay his mouth could really shut up a good ten seconds ago. Lance's eyes flicked to the door again. Could he make it? He might if he had the element of surprise. 

“Hate to break it to ya, but I’m the only one with a bike around here that I know of. Don’t think I count as a  _ gang _ all by myself.” 

"There's also your cat." 

Keith drew his hand back and cradled his Red closer, almost defensively. “Well, now that I have my criminal cat, you’ve insulted me, thrown mail in my face, and I still don’t even know your name, I’ll just get back to work. Gang stuff n’all that.” 

Okay, Lance felt kinda stupid. He was a big boy who could admit he might have overreacted. 

Not out loud, of course. 

"That's right. Take your gang and leave my store alone. And fix your mailing address!" 

“Right.” Keith’s face smoothed out and he pursed his lips. “Come on, Red. We have to go decide what our name and hand signal is going to be. Tell Mrs. F that Red said ‘hi.’” Cool and purposeful, he turned and marched back across Main Street, yanking the shop door open and disappearing without ever picking up his mail. 

Lance's heart pounded in his ears. Holy shit. What even was that? He ran his hands down his face, pulling the bottoms of his eyes. He was an embarrassment to himself and his whole family. At least no one else had seen it and he'd probably never have to talk to the guy again. 

He turned tail and scrambled into his shop, shutting the door firmly behind him. 

Okay, he needed to sort out his brain. To calm down and sink back into the real world and out of his head. So, two things had happened, or didn't happen. Knife Keith had  _ not _ pulled out a knife on him, but he  _ had _ referred to Lance’s grandmother as Ms. F. 

Weird. All around strange. 

To the point that Lance couldn't stop thinking about it. The delicate lines of Keith's face as he squeezed his eyes shut when Lance threw the letters at him, the gentle and possessive way he held his cat-like he had a heart under all that leather and ink, and those words, "Ms. F." Like he was intimately familiar with her. 

Fuck this town. There was no way  _ everyone _ here was so close to his grandmother. 

Lance caved. 

He called up Abuelita. 

“Hello?” she asked, in her heavily-accented English.

" _ Soy yo _ , _ Abuelita _ , _ Lance _ ." 

“Oh!” Immediately, she switched back to Spanish and her words came warm and excited. “This is a nice surprise. Is everything going well at the store?”

"Yeah, everything's fine." It was nice to hear Spanish again. He hadn't realized how starved he was for it until he heard his grandmother's voice. In California, Spanish was everywhere. Mostly Mexican, but the rhythmic Cuban Spanish was still common enough in Long Beach that he'd never thought it was possible to live in a place without it. 

They spoke for a while, more medical information he really didn't need. All old people were the same apparently. They just wanted to talk about what hurt and where. The difference was that he loved his grandma and listened intently, giving suggestions here and there and offering to drive her to the doctor next week. 

“Not that I mind,” his grandmother said cheerfully, “but were you just calling to catch up?”

"Actually," Lance said, feeling guilty that he did indeed have ulterior motives, "I was just wondering if you knew anything about a cat named Red?" 

“Awww.” His grandmother’s voice was definitely fond. “I do! I miss her. She’s a very sweet kitty. Has she been coming to visit you?” 

"Not really.” He fiddled with the hem of his shirt. “Say, do you know who's her owner?" Lance asked, holding his breath. 

“Oh, that’s Keith. He owns the tattoo shop across the street from you. Haven’t you met? You probably still get his mail. Such a sweet boy.” 

_ Owner.  _ Lance pursed his lips. He wasn't going to argue with her, that wasn't his place. Still. "Yeah, I'm sure. Hey, Abuelita, I gotta go. Gotta close up." 

“Yes, very important. So proud of you,  _ mi vida _ . Come see me soon!”

"Of course, Lita. Love you." 

“And I love you.”

He hung up and stared at his phone. Was he the only sane human here? How had Keith won over even his grandma?

~🌸~ 

The next day after Lance locked up his bike, he bent down and left an open can of cat food by his door. It wasn’t because he cared about  _ Keith  _ and his stupid adorable cat. No, it was something Lita had done, so it was something  _ he _ would do. Lance stood up and grabbed Keith's mail almost on instinct before heading inside. He was also going to apologize, he was man enough to do that. Not out loud, of course.

There weren't flowers that said, 'I'm sorry I thought you and your cat were in a biker gang but that knife you pulled in a back alley didn't help my impression of you.' But he did have a few on hand that meant  _ I'm sorry.  _ The rest would have to be taken in context. 

Hot And Inked probably had a brain under all that hair. At least, Lance hoped. 

He gathered some ‘I’m sorry’ flowers and arranged them in a sloppy bouquet. He didn’t even wrap them, just tied a string and called it good. He took them with Keith’s mail and jogged across the street. Quietly as he could, he put the mail in Keith’s mailbox, flowers sticking out of the flap. 

“This doesn’t mean you can stab me now,” Lance muttered. With a deep breath, he pushed the doorbell and ran.

He didn’t see Keith come out, but at some point, the flowers disappeared from the mailbox, and he still didn’t have a knife in his back, so it was a win as far as Lance was concerned. In fact, he was busy enough that day with an upcoming wedding that he didn’t think of Keith at all during the whirlwind of ‘that won’t match’ and ‘don’t these roses come in a deeper shade of salmon?’

It wasn’t until he was locking up and heard a voice call, “Hey,” that he remembered Keith existed. 

“Hm?” Lance turned, trying to blink wedding plans and flower orders out of his head. 

Keith was sitting in the indent of his storefront window with one leg up and the other planted on the sidewalk, scrolling through his phone. His leather jacket was gone, replaced by black jeans with rips all down the front and a crisp white t-shirt that showed off the sleeve tattoos on his arms. His hair was shoved messily into a beanie so that long tendrils of it fell around his face. He nodded in greeting once he had Lance’s attention and gave him a small - very small - smile. 

“Thanks for the flowers. And, y’know, my mail.”

“Oh, yeah.” Lance didn’t dare get closer. He stood his ground on his side of the street. “No problem.” None of it meant anything. His apology was accepted and now they could go back to being strangers. “Get your bike and go,” he told himself.

Unlocking his bike, he kicked off and left. His hands were sore from clipping stems and binding flowers. He leaned back to let his body steer. Lance was halfway down the street when he slammed on his breaks. Everything inside him told him to go home. Told him to keep pedaling and go to bed and forget about today. 

But there was a tiny spark that was forcing him to grip the handlebars and turn his bike around. It was the needle prick of Keith’s almost-smile, the kind that barely pushed up his lips. 

“I can’t believe you’re doing this, Lance.” 

It didn’t take long to return. He ground to a halt a few feet away from the tattoo parlor. Keith was still sitting in the window staring at his phone and Lance wasn’t sure what he would have done if he came all the way back to find Keith gone. It hadn’t even occurred to him as possible, but now he felt foolish. Foolish that he’d come back and foolish that he might’ve come back for nothing. It wasn’t like Mr. Inked over there was waiting for Lance. He almost turned around to leave again. Almost.

Panting slightly, out of breath from peddling and from his heart racing, Lance swallowed down his thoughts. “Lance,” he said and it startled Keith so badly that he fumbled his phone. “The name’s Lance.” 

Keith blinked at him, processing what he’d said. Then that not-quite-smile came back, but it twisted crookedly to one side and warmed his eyes. 

“Gotcha. Well, thanks for the flowers, Lance. Have a good night.”

That was...dismissive and over a lot faster than he’d thought it’d be. Lance scuffed the toe of his sneaker against the ground. “Yeah.” He squeezed the handlebars, the rubber bending in his grip. “Bye.” He kicked off, peddling away as fast as he could, heart pounding. That was so stupid, he was so stupid. God, who did that? Lance kicked himself all the way home, not even noticing the bright stars that speckled the sky overhead. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm crying over [Rushire ](https://twitter.com/Rushire_art)for this amazing amazingingness i'm speechless it's so beautiful T_T
> 
> New art by [Klance_Dreams ](https://twitter.com/klance__dreams)of Keith's shop and him standing outside when lance comes back!! uwu thank you so muchhhhh
> 
> Sail: I was having a bad day and needed a story that felt "pink" so this was born and it's been my baby ever since. Mostly it was used to put myself back into a good mood but eventually, it got a plot, then it was re-written, and now it's a full-fledged story. Not much stayed from the very very very first draft of this except the aesthetic and the tropes, but I hope it brings you as much joy as it did me when I needed a pick me up. There are darker themes in this because that's how i roll but, for the most part it's Lance learning how to be soft. ADHD in this is from my own experiences and all ADHD is different so. that's my disclaimer
> 
> Our comms are open! [Check them out here uwu](https://linktr.ee/sailunchartedwaters)
> 
> Like what we do? wanna hang out with us on Twitter? [Autumn Ignited](https://twitter.com/AutumnIgnited) and [SailUnchartedWaters](https://twitter.com/SailUnchartd)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always you can hang with us on twitter[Autumn Ignited](https://twitter.com/AutumnIgnited) and [SailUnchartedWaters](https://twitter.com/SailUnchartd)
> 
> Or for more content and early access to chapters go here: [click click click tap tap tap](https://linktr.ee/sailunchartedwaters)

~🌸~ 

The bride was back and this time her whole order needed to be redone. Everything he'd done yesterday was apparently complete shit. Her exact words were, _Oh, that’s not what I said, sugar. Bless your sweet heart, I'd never choose a pastel pink, but you can fix it, right?_

Which Lance was pretty sure meant it was all shit. 

He needed coffee three hours ago. 

The bride left him with a laundry list of changes and he wanted to cry. Instead, he grabbed his keys and locked the store. Maybe he could find a way to infest her whole order with bugs. If it meant he never had to work with her again, then he’d hunt them down himself. 

Stuffing his hands in his puffy jacket (that wasn't good at protecting him from the cold but was good at being colorful), he shivered his way to the cafe two blocks down. None of his clothes, even the “winter” ones, were warm enough for the chill of the South. Still, he refused to wear pants in March. It was spring and he was going to wear shorts, dammit. 

The bell chimed over his head as he pushed in the door and the dark smell of coffee lit up his brain like lights on a Christmas tree. Lance practically moaned as he leaned over the counter. 

“Hey there,” greeted the pretty barista. “What can I get started for you?”

"Soy frap, no whip, and two pumps of vanilla. The biggest one you got." 

“Uhh.” She winced a little. “We um. The closest I can get is a blended coffee, but it’s not the same mix as Starbucks. And I don’t think we have any milk alternatives.”

Before Lance could answer, a husky voice from behind him chimed in, “He can have mine, Shay. Here.” A silver thermal mug was handed to her from behind him. 

Lance watched it pass between them, beyond confused. “No, uh-uh, I don’t need whatever’s in that. I don’t drink out of str…” He turned and clicked his mouth shut.

It was Keith, because of course it was. He looked about as tired as Lance felt. Lance was beginning to think the dark smudges under Keith’s eyes were a permanent fixture of his face. His hair was still wet from a shower and Lance could smell the woodsy smell of his shampoo over the coffee. 

Keith nodded at the thermos that was now in the barista’s hands. “It’s just plain soy, I promise. My gang’s not into poisoning. Not our style.”

“Mm-hum. Sure.” Lance leaned against the counter and crossed his arms. Now that the shock of someone trying to roofie him though surprise soy in tumblers was gone, he couldn’t help but join in. It was kinda fun to have an inside joke with someone. “I could believe that about the cat, but it’ll take a lot more than a cup of soy milk to convince me that you aren’t that sneaky. You look like you’ve poisoned a whole street of people.”

Keith shrugged and sniffled into his plaid scarf. “You’re welcome to think that. More soy milk for me.” 

“I never said I didn’t want it.” Lance frowned; he didn’t pout. Actually, it was more of a glare really, he was sure of it. But not a pout. “Why do you have some, anyway? You like to go around handing out soy milk to poor vegans stuck at coffee shops like some kind of gangster hero?” 

He laughed a little at his own joke and expected Keith to do the same. When Keith averted his eyes and hunched down into his scarf like he’d kicked him, Lance worried he’d taken it too far. His brain raced, replaying the conversation.

The barista was foaming milk with a loud hiss and one of the customers was chuckling at his phone, and the wall on the clock had different colored hands, and Lance had fucked up somewhere. 

“Lactose intolerant.”

“Hm?” Lost inside himself, Lance realized he had no idea what he’d said. “Aren’t we all?” he hedged. 

There. That seemed like a common enough answer to cover up his faux pas.

“Um.” Keith wrinkled his brow. “No? At least so far as Hyperion customers go. I’m the only one so far’s I know.” 

"Hyperion?" Lance pulled at the hem of his jacket and it rustled plastic against itself. "Like the Titan? I'm confused."

“That’s. This place.” Keith gestured around. “Hyperion coffee shop.”

 _Oh, duh_. He’d never bothered to read the name of the shop or care enough to remember it.

“Sir, your order’s up,” the pretty barista interrupted. Lance startled, forgetting that he’d been waiting for coffee at all. “And Keith, I got yours too.”

Keith gave her a little smile and accepted his thermos and a huge cup of coffee. “Thanks Shay.” 

“Yeah, thanks, man.” Lance sipped his knockoff Starbucks and moaned. God, he needed that. A shiver ran down his spine. He was already cold and the iced coffee wasn’t helping. “Good stuff,” he chattered to Shay. 

She giggled. “Glad it’s okay for a not-frap. Y’all enjoy your day.” 

Lance hummed and took another sip of his freezing coffee. There it was; the infamous _y’all._ He’d heard it a few times since arriving, but every time, it stuck out like a sore thumb. This place really was starting to feel like a movie. _Gone With the Wind, y’all._ Lance snorted, snickering to himself. 

Keith sidled around him to the condiment station to dump a few packets of sugar into his cup and give it a stir. As he did, he eyed Lance sidelong. “You aiming for pneumonia or just haven’t done laundry in a while?” he asked lightly. 

The tone might have been light but the drawl in his accent made it sound condescending. A little underhanded in its polite jest. Lance pulled his sleeves over his hands so that he had a buffer between him and the cup. “Beauty is pain.” He turned away, pretending to focus on the window where he could see the corner of his shop, bright blue against the pale of the sky. 

Keith snorted and capped his coffee. “Noted. Enjoy the balmy weather, then.” He nodded at Shay. “Y’all take care now.” 

“See ya, Keith,” Shay called back cheerfully. 

That was weird. He hadn’t said goodbye to Lance. Not that Lance _wanted_ him to. No. He was just fine being ignored by hardened criminals. 

As the store’s bell tinkled, Shay turned her attention back to Lance and coughed politely. “Sorry to bother, Sir, but did you want to pay for that now or put a card on file?”

“Oh um.” He scrunched his nose. Had Keith paid? He tried to remember but it was all a blur after the whole soy thing. “Right sorry. Here.” He handed over his card, eyes still flicking to the door. 

At her questioning eyebrow he added, “Pay. Sorry, yeah, pay now.” With a swipe of his card, his half-gone not-frap was legally his. That was even worse, because now he had to go back and actually work on the stupid wedding order. 

“Bye, uh, bye.” He said, forgetting her name under pressure. Keith had just said it, but for the life of him it was gone. Poof. No more name. Sometimes he hated having swiss cheese for a brain. He could remember that _Hyperion_ was a Greek Titan and that the color the bride really wanted was Pantone _dusty_ pink not _salmon_ pink despite what she _actually_ ordered and so that was why her flowers didn't match, but somehow, he couldn't remember a name spoken less than a few seconds ago.

Instead, his mind was caught on the word _balmy_ . Over and over it replayed until he couldn’t remember the definition. Did it mean hot or cold? He thought it meant warm, nice weather, but now he was doubting himself. Lance left, still replaying Keith’s coy smile and they way he said _balmy-_ all round sounds before it crested to fall over the ‘y’. 

The whole interaction was awful.

Just to make sure it was over and done with, he Googled balmily and yes, it meant warm. Good. His brain could stop obsessing. 

Yet, it didn’t. Lance had been less than charming and all around uncool the whole time. At least his brain stopped trying to figure out what ‘balmy’ meant, but it refused to stop playing the entire conversation from beginning to end until shame and embarrassment piled up inside and exploded into a text with Hunk.

[10:23 AM]: Tell me I’m cool and you love me

 **Hunkasaurus [10:24 AM]:** The coolest. Were we not already bound in bro code I would take you in a manly fashion. Why? 

Lance paused. Why _was_ he so upset? He didn't need validation from a James Dean wannabe. He had Hunk and Pidge and all his real friends back home. 

[10:32 AM]: Just like to hear you say it ;) Guess who I ran into today? 

**Hunkasaurus [10:34 AM]:** uhhh idk who lives in the South. Abraham Lincoln 

[10:35 AM]: Close. Knife Keith, at the coffee shop  
And get this...  
[10:36 AM]: He’s lactose intolerant 

**Hunkasaurus [10:38 AM]:** that’s kinda lame for the whole bad boy gang member guy thing isn’t it 

[10:39 AM]: I know, isn't it awful? So dumb. But also he didn’t pay, just walked right out, coffee in hand

 **Hunkasaurus [10:40 AM]:** no one tried to stop him? 

[10:41]: Nah, man, he just walked out the door, said goodbye and everything  
This place is so backwards, idg it

 **Hunkasaurus [10:41 AM]:** maybe the whole town is criminals. Secret underground crime ring disguised as a quaint little town. Dude maybe your grandma is the boss 

[10:43 AM]: Oh shit, I bet she is, she would be, explains why everyone here knows and respects her. Hunk, I’m going to inherit a drug ring

 **Hunkasaurus [10:43 AM]:** Just remember how I stuck by you in your times of need when you’re rolling in dirty money 

[10:45 AM]: XD will do  
Call me tonight?

 **Hunkasaurus [10:46 AM]:** ofc

~🌸~

It was the day Lance had been waiting for, the biggest day besides his grand opening: First Friday. He’d closed down the shop early last night just to prep. His brother was coming to help him with the heavy lifting. Lance sorted through his supplies. He was going to be giving an entire presentation on Nemo’s Garden and how aquaponics worked, along with some samples of flowers. 

A knock on the door alerted him to Luis' presence. 

“Yo, little bro, is it this stuff?” he asked, motioning to the tanks and plants. Lance nodded and helped him load everything into the pickup. Once it was all safe and tied down with mats to protect the glass, Lance followed him in their grandma’s Oldsmobile. He talked to Luis on speakerphone as they drove. Their conversation was mostly filled with driving instructions, catching up on the family, and giving Luis the rundown of the aquaponics spiel.

It was well into the morning when they finally arrived downtown in the next town over. It was at least _bigger_ than Peach Springs _,_ with a whole ass Taco Bell. Amazing. Lance pretended to be impressed when Luis pointed it out. This felt a little more 'city' even if it hadn't been updated since some time between, like, George Washington and whenever _Grease_ took place.

At first their booth got a lot of attention, probably because Luis was so handsome. Most of the audience was staring at him rather than listening to Lance’s speech. Which, for the record was extremely interesting, thank you very much. He watched their eyes glaze over and shift to his brother as he tried to explain the nitrogen cycle and how the leftover food, dead plants and fish waste turn into ammonia, poisoning the water, but the plants filtered it, making happy fish and happy plants. It was a farm and a pet all in one. 

The crowd grew thinner as he tried to explain tank sizes and the types of plants they could grow. He gave up when the last person, a kid around twelve, raised her hand.

“You with the pigtails,” Lance said, already defeated.

“Where’s Nemo?”

“The store? Oh! It’s on Main, next to the antique store.” He added, “The one that specializes in teacups and spinning wheels,” because there were so many.

The girl shook her head and pointed at the tank. “ _Finding Nemo_ , where is he?” 

“The movie? No, no, no. Little girl, I named the shop after Nemo’s Garden, the underwater farm in Italy. Get it? Fish tanks, underwater farm, Nemo’s Garden!”

She gave him a murderous look. “I can’t believe I waited for Nemo and got some _loser_ instead.” She turned, pigtails bouncing as she huffed away.

“Rough,” Luis added unhelpfully.

“Shove it.”

His booth was mostly dead after that. A few curious glances, but they all smiled and politely shook their heads when he tried to beckon them over. He’d failed. This was one of his biggest chances to put his shop out there and honestly? Lance was struggling to hold it together. 

“Hey, I’m going to take a look around. Think you can watch it?” 

Luis looked up from one of the flowers he was twirling and nodded. 

“Cool.”

Lance wandered around a little until he came to a booth full of puppies. Now normally, Lance was a cat person, but only a heartless monster could say no to waggily puppy butts when they were feeling down. So, Lance paused at the booth, looked at the fliers, and hovered over the dog pen. Someone tapped to get his attention and he jumped, spinning around. Heart racing and ready to run or attack, he wasn’t sure which, he held his hands up against...a teenage girl. 

“Five dollars for face paint? It goes to a good cause!” the chipper teen in a neon green shirt asked. 

He hated being touched by strangers, especially surprise touches, but he knew it’d be taken as an overreaction, especially if he got mad at a kid. Plus, it actually sounded nice. Soft brush on his face as he relaxed and closed his eyes. Now that he was coming back to Earth, his heckles lowered and he shrugged. “Uh, sure I guess.”

“Five dollars.” She grinned and held out her hand, so Lance dug in his pocket and pulled out his wallet. “Perfect, right this way, sir.”

God, even high school kids were calling him _sir._

He followed her to the booth and sat down, looking at her expectantly.

“He’ll be right with you, he’s probably petting the dogs again.”

Oh. Lance had thought she was going to do it. Well, whatever, he didn’t really care who. “Sure.”

He only waited another three minutes or so before quiet, deep chuckling behind him startled him from watching a crate of beagle puppies kicking in their sleep. 

“Normally my clientele at this sort of thing are a little younger.” 

Knife Keith, cheap plastic paint palette in hand, appeared from his left and sat down in the folding chair across from him. His hair was, miraculously, pulled into a neat and perky ponytail, but the lime green Adopt Don’t Shop! t-shirt didn’t do his pale skin any favors. Still, he was definitely less threatening than he normally looked, and even had a messy little moon painted on his left cheek. Didn’t mean he was any less dangerous.

Lance gripped the sides of his chair. Now he’d gotten himself in trouble. “Are they? Sorry I didn’t- I should go.”

Keith sighed and leaned back, but kept looking at Lance intently. “Look. I don’t know what your problem is with me, but I’m not going to - I don’t know, rob you or whatever else you think. But you already paid, so what do you want on your face for the rest of the day?”

Digging his toes into the soft grass, Lance tipped the chair back and frowned. “It was a knife.” 

Keith raised one of his thick, unkempt brows. “You want me to paint a knife on your face.”

“No, no. You. You pulled a knife on me.”

“What?” Keith frowned in confusion. “No I didn’t. When?”

Lance let the chair fall back to the grass and he pointed an accusing finger at Keith. “In the back alley. You threatened me. I almost died.”

“Wh - _oh.”_ Comprehension dawned on Keith’s face, followed swiftly by annoyance. “You’re that flower boy from the alleyway.”

“ _Flower boy?_ Excuse you I’m-”

Keith scoffed, cutting him off. “Couple’a things. First off, that had nothing to do with you. The Dempseys will rough up anyone they think is an easy target. Only thing that gets them to back off is when someone calls their bluff. Second, I already had the knife out when you stopped by to gawk or whatever. Third, you absolutely didn’t ‘almost die’ because, as I recall, I told you to move _away_ from everything going on.” 

“I was there _first_. You jumped out of a dumpster weilding a knife and then attacked me and my innocent plant. I was already trying to leave when you shoved me.”

“Just how fuckin’ high were you? I was chasing them off of my friend. Why the hell would I attack you or your stupid plant?”

“Watch your mouth, that _stupid plant_ was Lita’s prized hydrangeas.” 

Keith sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Look. No matter what you think, all I was trying to do was keep anyone from getting hurt. That’s it. Sorry if I scared you.”

Lance wasn’t expecting an apology. He was ready with a comeback on the tip of his tongue, but it fizzled out and the fight left him. For some reason this dude had a way of crawling under his skin and agitating him. “Yeah.” He sat back and stared at the sleeping puppies. “I guess it’s fine now. You haven't done it again.”

“Don’t really plan on it, long as you don’t plan on shaking people down next to my shop,” Keith snorted. 

Seemed like a fair deal. “Shark.”

“Pardon?”

“For my face. You’re still painting my face, right? I gave you five dollars. Or, well, the girl five bucks, whatever.”

“Oh.” Keith’s face softened, the lavender of his eyes scrunching in a little smile. “Can do. What kind?”

“Zebra shark.” As if Keith would even know a zebra shark from a zebra.

Keith made a face but shrugged and started mixing white and black together. “Not a super intimidating shark, but it’s your face. Always pissed me off they had spots instead of stripes.” 

“What? Did you expect me to pick, like, a Great...White…wait. How do you even know what a Zebra Shark is?”

“I’m a tattoo artist,” Keith said, scooting his chair closer and using the handle of his paintbrush to guide Lance’s cheek to the side. Lance moved his head stiffly, jumping slightly at the touch. “Do you know how many sharks I’ve drawn in my time?”

Face painting had always sent goosebumps down Lance’s spine. It was so relaxing to have someone dote on him with a soft brush and cold paint. But instead of relaxed, he was a thread about to snap. “A few?” he guessed, trying not to think about where he was or who he was with and especially not what that person was doing, centimeters from his face. He tapped his fingers on the underside of the plastic chair. 

“Probably one a week.” Keith dabbed paint onto his cheek then began spreading it out with smooth strokes. “Overshadowed by flowers. So many roses. I could draw roses in my sleep. I’ll take all the sharks I can get.” 

"I like roses. For their smell but not the way they look. I'd rather have gardenias. They're prettier." His fingers slowly uncurled and blood rushed back into their tips. 

The corner of Keith’s mouth quirked up but he didn’t take his eyes off his work. “Smell nice, too. You been to Eileen’s, by the library? There’s a little garden in the back that’s got a bunch of them.”

Lance shook his head, then gasped, staring wide eyed and open mouthed at Keith.

Keith just laughed softly. “No worries. Good thing it’s a big gray shark, huh?” He dabbed a little more paint onto his brush and worked on smoothing the lines Lance had drawn on himself. “Maybe just try to use your words next time, or I’ll run out of space.”

“Sorry,” Lance mumbled. “I thought talking would mess it up.” Keith didn’t seem so scary now, wielding a brush instead of a knife and talking in a low voice that puffed across the drying paint. He was almost...cute. Maybe Lance could just sit here and enjoy it without worrying. 

“You can talk, just keep your head still.” 

Lance didn’t nod. He almost did, but he didn’t. Smirking to himself, he forgot to acknowledge Keith’s instructions.

Keith swished his brush in water, wiped it on a paper towel, and loaded it with brown. As he stippled dots on Lance’s face, his eyes flicked up to meet Lance’s. Keith gave him a quick smile, and by the time Lance blinked it was gone.

Did he imagine that? Lance’s heart skipped for a second and he chastised it for jumping to conclusions it had no right jumping to. Now was not the time and this was not the person. These weren't real feelings; he was just so lonely that even a smile made him swoon. That was all. Not real.

Lance normally never spent this much time alone and without friends. It was rotting his brain. 

He almost shook his head again, but stopped just in time. The need to move slithered through his body until it wound around his feet and they twisted in the grass. Breaking the silence, Lance held out the ‘o’ to get Keith’s attention, “So… How's the gang sign coming along? Think of any yet?”

Keith shook his head with a chuckle. “Nah, I’m leaving it up to Red. She’s the boss and always has been. But if you have any suggestions, you can throw them at me with my mail.”

Lance snorted. He swung his feet in relief, the grass swishing under the soles of his shoes. His joke hadn't made things worse like they sometimes did. “I’ll do my best.”

It was quiet again while Keith went back to painting and Lance used his toes to play in the grass. His mind wandered back to the booth and his brother and their, _his,_ failed attempts to get anyone to listen. No one seemed interested. Well, they were _interested_ but in the wrong thing. “I don’t get why- I get why they were staring at him, he’s hot, gets all the chicks, unlike me, but other than that I don’t understand. If they’d just give me a chance, they’d see how cool it is, y’know?”

“Um.” Keith pulled back to look at him in confusion. “You uh...trying to ask someone out?” 

“What?” Lance asked offhandedly, trying to get back to his rant. Realization dawned and he waved his hands frantically to erase the awful image. “No! He’s my brother, dude. No, no. _Aquaponics_. God, my brother. Gross.” 

Keith looked baffled. “What? Who’s your brother? When did we start talking about aquaponics?”

“I was…you…” Fuck, he’d done the thing again, but not in front of Hunk or Pidge, who’d just laugh or even pick up his thoughts from context. He’d done it to a complete stranger and that was always the worst. Heat filled his cheeks and he lowered his eyes to his lap. “I didn’t say any of that out loud, did I?”

“No,” Keith agreed, but that little quirked smile was back. “But why don’t you say it out loud this time so I can participate? You’ve got another layer of spots to go before you’ve got a full shark.”

Lance was starved. Starved for conversation and touch and a listening ear. His whole life was uprooted and flipped on its head and the only person who he could really complain to was Hunk. Hunk was great, but text and phone calls could only go so far. So, Lance spilled his guts. Threw up words all over Keith. Told him about how he’d had this great idea to update the flower shop with aquaponics, then explained what aquaponics were before lamenting his failed booth that he abandoned to his brother while he got his face painted. 

Keith listened patiently the entire time, pausing now and then to clean his brush and pick up new colors. When Lance finally petered out, Keith gave a contemplative hum. “It does sound really interesting, and I think it’s a great idea. I bet Mrs. F loves it. I also might have an idea to funnel some traffic your way, if you’re interested.” 

That caught his attention. “Yeah? Like what?”

“Well.” Keith drawled the word out for a full second. “Talk to the 4H guys. Get some of the older kids to volunteer at your booth for their service credit. Little kids always stop when the high schoolers are demo’ing something, and parents always funnel money in if their kids get involved. Why d’you figure they’ve got me painting faces?” He swirled the brush against Lance’s cheek in tight little circles. “Plus they love live animals, so if they can actually see real fish, they’ll be all over it. Kids equals parents equals grandparents. Hell, set up next to 4H and you’ve got a ready made audience of people who love to grow shit.” 

That…wasn’t a bad idea. At least the reasoning seemed sound. There was only one problem. “What’s Four H?”

“Oh. It’s an organization for kids. Community service and good citizen-type stuff, but the big emphasis is on agriculture.” He glanced at Lance’s eyes and then back to his work. “It’s like Boy Scouts for farmers.”

“That’s kinda cool. And they’re popular enough that they’d attract attention?”

“One of the biggest booths at every fair.” 

“Hmm.” Lance thought about that. It would require talking to whoever was in charge and making them agree to help Lance, but he was pretty charismatic, he could probably do it. Though, it might be helpful to already know someone on the inside. “Are you, like, a Four H scout?”

“Little old for it, sad to say, but I would’ve liked it as a kid. Local chapter leader’s a real nice guy, literally named ‘Farmer.’ Not even kidding. And he looks and acts just like Santa Claus.”

Long, sweeping lines of the brush smoothed past the corner of Lance’s eye, making him blink. Keith was taking an awful long time with his shark and now that Lance thought about it, an awful lot of colors that a zebra shark wasn’t. Was…was Keith trying to keep him there?

Lance laughed at himself and thankfully it seemed like he was laughing at the Santa comment. No. Keith was probably supposed to paint the whole side of his face or something and all Lance had asked for was a shark so he was adding waves around it. That made sense. “Do you think you could point me in the right direction? I’m not even sure what a Four H would look like besides trying to find Santa.”

“How ‘bout I just walk you over? You’re done and I’m due for my break.” Keith backed his chair up and offered Lance a large hand mirror. “Got a little carried away, hope you don’t mind.”

Oh. He wasn’t wrong. Keith had painted a whole wave for the shark to swim in, but what Lance hadn’t been expecting was the detail. The sparkling water flowed up the side of his face and around his eye to crest gently over his eyebrow. The water almost looked real, the way he’d blended the colors and painted the white foam. The swell of his cheek was dotted with starfish and the hollow was home to coral and anemone. It was...actually really impressive. 

Keith definitely had talent; he wasn’t a tattoo artist in name alone.

“Woah. That’s really fucking cool. I thought I’d only get a shark, not a work of art.” 

Keith smiled at that, still small and a little shy, but his eyes showed that he was pleased. “Guess if the whole gang thing doesn’t work out, I could always try to make a living as a tattoo artist or something.” 

Lance shook his head, careful not to smile too wide and crack the paint. “Doubt it’ll work, man. You should stick to your day job. More money in the underworld.” He stood and shoved his hands in the coat pockets as a breeze whipped by. Goosebumps traveled up his legs and he shivered in the shade. 

It was enough for Keith to take notice, and he stood, wiping his hands on a rag. “C’mon. So happens the 4H booth is right by Hyperion’s, so I might have ulterior motives for escorting you. And it looks like you could use somethin’ warm since you seem allergic to dressing for the weather.”

“It’s not my fault this place hasn’t figured out that spring is supposed to be warm.” Coffee did sound good, though. “You gonna steal your coffee again today, like the hardened criminal you are?”

“Steal it?” Keith pursed his lips in a way that made his lip poke out, more a pout than a frown. “When the hell did I steal my coffee? Before or after I pulled a knife on you?”

Lance shrugged and stepped out in a random direction, not sure where he was going but too anxious to wait for Keith to lead. “After.” A hand grabbed the back of his jacket and steered him in the opposite direction. 

“I’ve got a whole life of crime going on I didn’t even know about,” Keith muttered, shoving his hands into the pocket of his black hoodie. He took the lead; away from the Animal Shelter booth and down the road, past people selling jams and flavored honey, pastries, wooden furniture and jewelry. At the intersection where the block ended, a giant green tent took up more space than any other two tents combined. Sure enough, there was a man out front wearing a white shirt with a green four leaf clover, looking every inch as if Santa had abandoned Christmas and gone straight to St. Patrick’s Day. 

Keith led Lance up and raised a hand in greeting. “Hey there, Farmer.”

Farmer Santa grinned, showing off a gold tooth. “Hello! You boys here to take a turn at milkin’ Clover?” He motioned over his shoulder at the dairy cow boredly munching on grass behind him. 

“I dunno.” Keith turned to Lance, smirking. “Are we here to milk Clover?”

Lance only stared at the kid who was currently milking. He watched as liquid squirted out with a combination of awe and disgust. "No, uh, can't. Vegan," he tried to explain. Cows were much MUCH bigger in real life and even if he wasn't vegan there was no way he was putting his hands under the belly of a giant beast. 

“Ah well,” Farmer said with a laugh. “Takes all kinds! What can I do ya for?”

Keith jerked his thumb at Lance. “Farmer, this is Lance, Mrs. Fuentes’ grandson. He owns the flower shop now. Lance, this is Farmer Greenfield.”

Farmer… _Greenfield…_

Lance stared at Keith a moment too long waiting for him to laugh. He didn't. Hunk was definitely going to hear about this. 

Farmer stuck his unusually large hand out to Lance with a wide smile. “Pleasure! Welcome to the neighborhood, son.”

"Thanks?" it came out as more of a question. He tried to keep his face neutral as he took the guy's hand. God, he hated shaking hands. Vaguely, he wondered if everyone inwardly cringed when they were forced to shake or if it was just him. 

“He’s doing something cool with the shop I thought you might be interested in hearing about,” Keith went on.

Taking his hand back, he tried to be subtle about wiping it on his shorts. Only, he couldn't really stop. Every time he ran it across the thick side seam, he had to do it again until it passed down the perfect center of his hand, then he had to do it to the other side, then both at once. 

“Oh?” Farmer turned to him, bushy eyebrows like white caterpillars raised in question. 

"Aquaponics. It's like, water gardening." Lance paused to see if there was any recognition in Santa's eyes. When he saw none, he continued. “It cleans a water tank naturally and the tank waters the plants. It’s a mini ecosystem to grow food in.”

Even if he didn’t understand the technicalities, Farmer definitely looked interested. “You don’t say? Here - Maryanne! Mind the front, girl. These boys and I are gonna take a break.”

A girl with carrot-orange hair poked her head from behind a display of seed packets. “You just took one an hour agOH.” Her eyes widened and her smile turned shy. “Hey there, Keith.”

Keith smiled blandly back. “Hey, Maryanne.”

She giggled. Like. A lot. Way more than that greeting warranted. The crush was so obvious that it hurt to watch.

“Come on back, son,” Farmer said, placing his large hand on Lance’s shoulder and guiding him away. “And tell me what you’re thinkin’.”

He looked back at Keith nervously, but the jerk just waved and mouthed ‘coffee.’ 

So Lance was alone and slightly panicking with the dude’s hand on his shoulder. He skipped ahead a few paces, twisting out of his grip. Thankfully, the dude didn’t touch him again. 

Farming Santa seemed genuinely interested and had agreed to send one of the kids to his booth to learn for the rest of the fair. He even agreed to have Lance speak on Friday at some Four H’s event. 

By the time he was stepping out of the tent, he’d almost forgotten about Keith. Except there he was, waiting with two cups of coffee. 

“Decided to make it a double heist?”

Keith looked unimpressed. “I can always drink two cups alone if you don’t want this.”

“Um, does it have milk?”

“Yup. I completely ignored the part about you being vegan. In fact, it came straight from Clover.” At Lance’s look, Keith rolled his eyes. “It’s almond.”

Lance grinned and held out his hands. Once he had the warm drink, he pressed it against his cheeks instead of drinking it. “Oh God, this is the best.”

Keith snorted. “You really gotta give up on the warm weather clothes for another month at least.”

“La, la, la, I can’t hear you over the fact that it’s spring.”

Keith shook his head. “So? Any luck?” 

Lance hummed. “If luck counts as being invited to some kind of agriculture expo to do a presentation, then, yeah. I think so.” He took a sip of his coffee and gagged. “Fuck that’s sweet.” Wiping his mouth with his sleeve, he glared at the coffee like it had betrayed him. 

“Oh.” Keith raised his hand awkwardly. “Uh, that’s probably mine then. I guess I got them mixed up. Here, we can switch the tops.”

Handing his cup back, Lance pinched his face like it’d been sour. “Did you put, like, an entire bag of sugar in there?”

“If I could fit it.” Keith fiddled with the tops until he had them swapped and handed Lance’s back. “I miss flavored creamer, and the almond ones just don’t taste the same. So it’s vanilla almond milk, but with mocha syrup and three packs of sugar.” 

“I’m not going to make the ‘would you like some coffee with your sugar’ joke, but why even drink coffee if you don’t like the flavor?” Lance took a sip of his and sighed with content.

Swirling his cup a few times, Keith blew at the steam curling from the little hole and took a swallow. “I do,” he said between sips. “I just like it sweet, that’s all. But most days I basically just drink it straight from the pot and as fast as possible.”

"That still doesn't convince me that you like coffee." 

Keith just shrugged and stared down at the black lid of his disposable cup. “Anyway, I’m glad you got something worked out with 4H. I think most everyone on the block would do anything to see Mrs. F’s store do well.” 

That rubbed him the wrong way. Lance bristled. “I’m not gonna run my grandma’s store into the ground.”

“Jesus, I didn’t say you would.” Keith wrinkled his nose. “It’s just generally polite to lend a hand when and where you can, or so I’ve been told.”

“Sure.” Lance was about to tell Keith where he could stick his politeness when a kid ran up, calling his name. 

“You’re Lance, right?” Freckles and Sunburn asked. “Mr. Greenfield sent me to learn about Aquagardens.”

“Aquaponics.” 

She waved him off and shook her brown hair that was almost black. “I don’t care. Plants and fish. I can’t wait.”

“Oh. Well. I guess.” He sighed and flashed Keith a smile. “Thanks for the coffee. Don’t steal anything else while you’re here.”

“Yeah.” Keith didn’t look particularly happy. He held up his coffee in farewell. “See ya.” Without really waiting for a reply, he stuck his free hand in his hoodie and started wandering back towards the shelter’s booth. 

The rest of the day went by fairly well. The brunette girl was good at attracting customers and was genuinely interested in what Lance was doing. It was... kinda cool to be honest. Eventually, Luis had to leave to pick up his kids and his impromptu sales kid needed to go back to the H Four tent. That left Lance with the arduous task of transporting the tanks back to the shop alone. 

It took him twice as long to pack everything up and put it safely away. At least he had his grandmother’s car to drive today. Three trips. It took him _three_ trips to clear his booth. He’d even seen Knife Keith walk by and avert his eyes. _Rude._

Whatever. Lance didn’t need help. He didn’t need anyone, not friends and not some town that wanted to pity his shop into success. 

When he went home that night, he startled as he passed by the mirror. The artwork on his face was still striking even through the cracked paint. He traced the outline of the shark and frowned. 

“Stupid Keith,” he muttered to the mirror when he really meant _stupid town,_ and got out his face wash. 

~🌸~ 

Bored. Deathly bored. He was going to literally die and it'd be weeks before anyone found his corpse and they'd all shake their heads and say, “It was the boredom that got 'em, y'all." Maybe stupid Keith with his pretty eyes and an affinity for sugar would be there. And he'd pipe up, “Should've worn something warmer.”

Lance flopped down onto the counter. No one had come in all day. No one. Not a single granny or lost tourist or confused shopper.

Okay, so no tourist had ever stopped by Peach Springs, let alone his shop, but that wasn't the point. 

He was bored. And he was physically dying from it. 

Lance's phone buzzed and he whipped up so fast that he browned out. Ignoring it as his vision cleared, Lance pulled out his phone. 

Hunk had sent him a picture. It was him and Pidge at the beach, sun peeking over the waves as they held their boards, smiling. It looked like fun. It looked like his friends not needing him. 

He flopped back down, phone dangling from his fingertips. "I hate you," he told life in general, "I want take backsies." 

Unfortunately, life didn't answer him. Not in the way he wanted, like a plane ticket back to California or a free ride scholarship landing in his lap. 

No. Life wasn't that kind. 

Shy of about 12:45, there was a knock at his front door, loudly followed by a female voice yelling “Knock knock!” as she just...opened the door. 

What the actual fuck. 

Lance sat up and slid off the counter. "Uh, welcome to Nemo's Garden, are you here for aquaponics or flowers?" 

“Oh no." She laughed, shaking her head and waving a stack of envelopes. "It’s Stella, from down the street? I’ve got your mail, honey.” 

'Stella from down the street' was a woman who, in her chunky wedge shoes, met Lance eye-to-eye. She had a red bob with straight bangs and lipstick in an alarming shade of candy apple. When she smiled, there was a clear gap between her front teeth that offset the freckles around her nose. Altogether, she looked less like a woman in her late forties and more like a kid who had gotten unnaturally stretched. 

“Oh. Oh! Thank you.” Lance jogged forward and took the mail with a furrowed brow. “This happened to me with that tattoo parlor. Why haven't you guys sorted this out?”

“Oh, we tried, but it just seemed less hassle to let Pearl do what she’s gonna do, you know. She’s had the same route for twenty-five years, and it ain’t her fault we keep switching things around. Besides - no harm done.” She stuck her hand out, her fingers topped with long, equally red nails. “Like I said, I’m Stella. Nice to meet you, honey, though I feel like I know you already from your Gramma!” 

Awesome. Another one. Lance shook her hand. It was limp and cold and oddly rough. He pulled his hand away, not able to handle the unwanted contact any longer, and wiped it on the back of his shorts. “You’re friends with Mariposa?” Lita had never said anything about any Stella.

“Sure! Mrs. Fuentes never met a stranger.” She grinned at him again, wide and white. “Well I won’t keep you, darlin, I just didn’t want you to miss out on your mail. You want me to leave it outside your door next time? ‘Course you’re always welcome at the pharmacy. Oldest running fountain in the nation!” 

“That’s cool. I can come pick it up if you don’t mind me opening your mailbox. I promise I’ll only take my mail.” Lance had more questions then when this conversation started. Why did no one seem to care about mixed up mail? Why was everyone so nice? Why did everyone want to shake hands? It was dirty!

“Oh, you help yourself, honey, nothing in there you cain’t see, and you’re welcome to the bills on top of it!” She laughed at her own joke, loud and open-mouthed. “You take care, sweetie, nice chattin’ with ya!” 

Stella waved and waddled her way back down the street, thin legs on high shoes making her look like a cherry-red flamingo on its way to work. 

He couldn’t wait to go _home_. 

Lance shut his door and shuffled through his mail. Ugh, more bills. Thanks a lot Stella. “Oldest fountain in the nation!” he mimicked. What did that even mean and who cared about an old water spout? 

His phone alarm went off letting him know it was time for a break. “I need some coffee," he told the succulents. 

Locking up, Lance tapped the sign he'd put out that morning. It was still secured to the same pole he chained his bike to. _Watch out for hungry cats,_ it said above a color pencil sketch he'd done of Red. It looked more like a bear than a cat. He'd need to get a better sign later. 

Red’s morning treats were untouched and he glanced at the tattoo shop. Hm. He could see Red pawing at the window from here. Why hadn't Keith let her out? 

Well, he was getting coffee anyway and he owed Keith one from First Friday. 

That wasn't weird, right? Getting coffee for someone so that he could find out why their cat hadn't eaten treats? 

He shot a quick text to Hunk, asking if that was weird as he entered the Titan Coffee, or whatever the name was. 

“Oh hey!” Sheela? Shyan...Shay! Shay chirped and perked up from behind the counter. She smiled at him like she was equally as glad to see a customer as he would have been. Must be a slowass Monday in slowass Peach Springs. 

"Frap- er," Lance corrected himself at Shay's raised eyebrow, "Blended coffee?" 

She grinned. "Almond milk, right? I had my Grandma put in an order for soy that should be here next week. But we did get some banana bread that's vegan if you want." 

"Yeah, sure. That sounds good." His phone buzzed. 

**Hunkasaurus [1:13 PM]:** I mean I guess not. It’s polite but why do you even care? Thought you hated the guy 

"Uh. Make it two breads?" Lance said as he typed back his thanks with a reminder that the cat had done nothing wrong. "And um, biggest coffee with mocha syrup? Please." 

Shay gave him a strange look that was replaced by a customer service smile. "Coming right up." 

It wasn’t long before she handed over both drinks in a little carrier that she stuffed the bread in between. “Sugar packets are over there,” she said, waving towards the condiment table. 

Lance couldn't remember how many sugar packets Keith liked. He was about to grab a handful and call it good, but stopped. Maybe he could use the Pleasentville-ness to his advantage. "Hey," he called to Shay, "Do you, like, know how many sugars Keith likes?" 

Her smile was still comfortably polite, but the devious shine in her eyes said she was inwardly thinking ‘ _Knew it.’_ “For a coffee that size? I’d say five.”

"Five," Lance repeated and took six just in case. "Thanks, uh, bye, Shay." 

Shay giggled, not unkindly, but still. “Take care.” 

Lance backed out of the shop with his two coffees and breads and headed for Keith's parlor. Doubt weighed down on him with every step. 

Hunk had said it wasn't weird, but he didn't say it with a lot of confidence. Lance could usually trust Hunk to give him the right social cues so he didn't come off too cold or too intense. 

His pace slowed as he got closer, the black shop looking ominous in front of him. "You can do this, Lance. You're just going to ask if Red can come over so your cat food money doesn't go to waste. It's not weird. This is fine." 

The pep-talk didn't do its job and he was bouncing with each step until he was bouncing on the stoop. He pulled out his phone and checked Hunk's text again. Nothing new. 

Before he could formulate a plan of action, the door chimed as it opened. Keith stepped out, nearly colliding with him. “Oh jeez,” he started, “I’m so - oh.” Keith froze, his face going through a series of emotions that settled on cool politeness. “Afternoon. Can I help you?”

Fuck. 

He wasn't ready, he hadn't even practiced what he was going to say. 

Cat. Treats. Right. 

Lance launched into his explanation, "Red's treats were untouched and I made her a sign but I get it if it's too dangerous, I just thought since it was already a thing that you'd be okay with it. So, I brought you coffee and Shay said they just got some vegan banana bread so I just grabbed it but if you don't like it-”

Keith shook his head, snapping back from the daze of Lance’s rapid speech. “Whoa, hold up. You brought coffee and something about my cat?”

Lance sighed and held up the tray. "Here, for Friday." 

Keith blinked at it for a moment and it was like watching a rusty engine grind to life. “Oh,” he finally managed, “right. Thanks.” Accepting the tray, he glanced up at Lance and then down to the sidewalk. “Do you, uh...wanna come in? I was only leaving to get coffee.”

Turning to check his shop, Lance remembered why he'd done a coffee run in the first place. Dying of boredom. 

"Yeah, sure, I guess." 

“Okay, well...come on back.” Keith stepped aside and held the door open for Lance. 

The inside of Area 51 was equally as black as the outside, with a few notable exceptions. The walls were airbrushed with cosmic blues, purples, and greens topped with little flecks of glow-in-the-dark-paint, all of which made up one unending mural of the galaxy. There were strings of Christmas lights all along the ceiling, casting a warm glow on the picture frames that held examples of previous tattoos, individual art, a few black and white photographs, band posters, and newspaper clippings about various cryptid sightings. The counter was right up front, and it housed four or five massive black binders as well as one of those jars with the sticks coming out, valiantly trying its tiny damndest to mask the smell of rubbing alcohol and ink. 

“There’s a lounge kind of area in the back,” Keith said around a bitten-off yawn. He kept walking, jerking with his head for Lance to follow. 

“Nice place.” With nothing for his hands to do since Keith had taken both coffees, he shoved them in his pockets. It was warmer in here, but not by much. 

From the front desk, there were three small rooms to the left - named the Loch Ness, Bigfoot, and Chupacabre respectively - that each held a reclining chair, almost like those in a dentist’s office. The walls inside them were still black, but each one had different colored speckling, and they were meticulously clean. In the back, there was a small fridge making an unusual humming noise, a microwave, a coffee maker, and a beat up black leather couch with throw pillows that said things like I WANT TO BELIEVE and TRUST NO ONE. In the corner, Red had a black kitty bed patterned with nonthreatening little ghosts.

“Would you rather I put it outside your shop instead?” Lance asked, trying to pick up the conversation again.

Keith frowned down at the coffee tray. “The coffee?”

“The cat food.” Lance dug down into where he kept his fake confidence, that personality that was more character than human. He collapsed into the couch and grinned. “That way Red wouldn’t have to run cross the street. Like I said, I put up a sign, but there’s still cars and I figured that's why she wasn’t coming over.”

“Oh.” 

Keith set the tray on the cheap black coffee table in front of the couch and settled on the floor beside it. He seemed to be choosing his words as he unpacked the bread and popped the lid from his coffee. 

“No, I don’t mind, and it’s sweet of you to do that for her. You don’t have to. I just thought...well, after how pissed off you were on Friday, figured you were about done with us. So I’ve kept her from botherin’ you. So I’m, uh. Pretty surprised to see you here. With coffee.” He sniffed his cup and his eyes widened fractionally. “Is that mocha?”

“Oh, oh yeah!” Lance pulled out the packets of sugar from his pocket. He set them on the table, keeping his grin in place and doing his best not to think about how definitely weird Keith thought he was. “I didn’t remember how many packets, but Shay said five so I brought you six. At least I hope there’s six. I don’t do well with numbers.”

Keith was sort of...frowning at his coffee, looking quizzical and vague. A few seconds of silence went by before he turned his attention to Lance, meeting his eyes with drawn-up brows. “You actually...remembered? How I like my coffee?” 

“I mean. You told me.” Lance’s fingers itched to grab his phone again and yell at Hunk. Obviously this was bad advice. His bro had steered him wrong and now Keith was looking at him like he was one of the aliens painted on the wall. 

“But…but you don’t even _like_ me.”

That stunned Lance for a moment, enough to snap his mouth closed. His brain rushed, trying to puzzle out what he’d missed and what he’d done. “I don’t _anything_ you,” he said at last. “Just kinda neutral, but I don’t dislike you.” 

“Oh.” 

There was a stretch of silence that had tipped well over into awkward before Keith managed, “Sorry. I - look, I’ll be the first to tell you I’m still not great with people. But I do genuinely appreciate the coffee, and that you remembered after some offhand comment.” 

“I can’t help it. My brain remembers the weirdest shit. I don’t know a single name of anyone I’ve met here but I memorized your coffee preference like that.” Lance snapped with a laugh. “Don’t think too hard about it. Also-” He grabbed his own coffee that was spilling condensation all over Keith’s coffee table. “I’m sorry for whatever I did. It probably won’t be the last.”

Keith still hadn’t stopped frowning, but now it was on the side of puzzled more than upset. “Why d’you say that?”

“Say what?” Lance asked around his straw as the cup dripped freezing water onto his bare legs. He wiped it down with the sleeve of his jacket. 

“Like you’re sure you’re gonna do something offensive or something. You didn’t do anything, really. I just pissed you off talking about Mrs. F.”

Lance shrugged. The plasticy material did nothing for absorbing the water so he switched to his shirt, pulling it up to dry his cup. “I’ve lived twenty years as me, so, I know I’ll fuck up eventually. I like to apologize in advance since I probably won't notice unless you tell me.”

Keith snorted, digging in the cabinet under the coffee maker and pulling out a handful of fast food napkins. “Pretty sure everyone’s gonna fuck up eventually. Here, keep your shirt dry.”

“Maybe. It’s just different.” He took the napkins and tried to keep his expression neutral as he wiped off his leg. “Don’t worry about it.”

Opening five sugar packets at once, Keith dumped them into his coffee and reached behind to open the mini fridge and take out a carton of vanilla soy milk. He poured in a dollop and held it up. “Guess you can’t really add this after the fact to a coffee like that, but...need any?” 

“Oh! Oh sorry, I forgot to tell you. They got almond milk so that’s already got some in it. I hope that’s okay.”

Keith’s face finally relaxed into a soft smile. “Yeah, that’s fine. Nice to have some solidarity in town for a change. Maybe with two of us, they’ll actually keep stuff on hand more often.”

Lance winked. “The girl said next week they’ll have soy and the banana bread is vegan. Seems like they’re trying to be more inclusive or something.”

For some reason, that made Keith bite at his lip and look a little flush. “Oh. That’s - uh. That’s real good.” 

Lifting his arms, Lance slid off the couch like it was a slide. He settled his elbows on the table and drank his coffee hands-free. “Yep. So.” He looked up at the wall, keeping the straw in his mouth. “This is the inside of the infamous Area 29. 52. 91?”

“Fifty-one, but yeah.” Keith glanced around. “I dunno about ‘infamous’ but it sure was a topic of debate at first. No surprise, since I know it’s pretty different from everything else. Actually,” he eyed Lance carefully. “It was Mrs. F that went out of her way to make me feel welcome and included when I first got my start. Everyone warmed up to it after that.”

“Mm.” There was that feeling again. The possessive, lonely feeling that gripped his heart and confused him. “She did feed your cat I guess.”

“Yeah.” Keith made a face. “That I’m not so sure I’m as grateful about. Now Red’s become a real fuckin’ Houdini about getting out and half the time she won’t even eat what I give her until she gets to run across the street. I’ve been severely demoted.”

Lance snickered and iced coffee sprayed from his mouth, just enough to be embarrassing. He tried to cover it up, wiping his face and causally dragging his arm across the coffee table where droplets landed. “I believe it. Cats are cute like that.”

“Cute,” Keith sneered. “Yeah. Adorable. But you don’t need to keep it up. I mean it. She’ll get the hint after a while. But if you want a little shadow visitor, I won’t stop her anymore. Like I said, it’s sweet of you.” 

Seemed like he got away with spitting coffee all over Keith’s furniture. One point for smooth Lance. “Psh, whatever. I’m a lot of things but sweet isn’t one of them.” He bounced his knee and it made the coffee table shake. “Sorry.” 

Keith shrugged. “Don’t be. Doesn’t bother me. I do it when I sketch.” He unwrapped one of the banana breads and tore off a corner piece, popping it in his mouth. “And I dunno...seems kinda sweet to bring coffee and snacks to a guy you don’t even ‘anything.’ Not that I’m complaining, cuz this is actually really good for healthy shit.”

“Okay, one. Banana bread isn’t healthy, even the vegan kind.” His leg shook again but he was careful not to jostle the table too much. “And two, I fooled you. You’ve been had. Because this is all very selfish of me. I may have bought an entire case of cat food from Costco to live up to my grandma’s legacy and if Red doesn’t eat it then I’ve wasted all that money. Not to mention the food.”

That startled a laugh out of Keith - short and airy. “Ah well. Guess I can’t stand between Red and her true love.” As if on cue, the huge fluffy cloud that was Red came around the corner, rubbing herself against the wall and making little _prrrp_ noises. She pattered straight past Keith and up to Lance, sliding herself along his sleeve. 

Keith was definitely pouting. “Hussy.”

Lance gasped and covered the cat’s ears. “How dare you say that to such a baby.”

He rolled his eyes right back. “See how much of a baby you think she is when she’s yowling at you for food and tries to climb you. You get those crazy-long legs of yours all covered in claw marks, don’t you come crying to me.” 

“Lies and slander. She’d never.” Lance picked her up under her armpits and she hung limply as he booped their noses together. “She’s a complete baby.”

“I can’t watch this,” Keith groused. “It took a year after I found her for her to let me do that kind of shit.”

Lance turned, pressing his cheek against Red’s so that they were both looking at Keith. “Well no wonder if you insult her all the time. She needs love and affection and snuggles. Not insults.” He turned back to Red so that they were nose-to-nose. “Isn’t that right, you little soot ball?”

Keith was trying not to look sulky and it wasn’t working at all. “Don’t forget you also decided she’s a crime lord.”

“I accept my new overlord of the underground.” Red squirmed and Lance put her in his lap where she curled up, kneading his leg. It hurt but not bad enough that Lance was going to make her stop. “I should probably get out of your hair, as tangled as it is. Bet you have work to do,” he said to Red more than Keith.

“Wow. If you’re gonna insult me more, give me my cat back.” 

“I’m not holding her hostage. Take her if you want her.”

Keith sighed. “Can’t. She’ll just fuss, and then pout. She’s a master at the cold shoulder.” As if to acknowledge and agree with him, Red raised her head and said, “Mrrp.” 

Lance looked over at the door where he could see a sliver of his shop roof through the window and then back down at Red. He scratched the top of her head and she lifted into it, purring. Fair was fair, right? “Tomorrow,” he said without thinking, “you should see my shop.”

“Oh.” Keith looked surprised, blinking at him with glazed eyes. “Oh, yeah. I’d like to. I wanna see the aquaponics. Well.” He gave Lance an abashed smile. “I wanna see the fish.”

“Um…there’s not. I don’t actually sell fish. The flower shop doesn’t have the license yet so right now it’s just empty tanks and supplies.”

“Ah,” Keith said, but his lips twisted up in what was quickly becoming a sort of signature half-smile. “Well if you ever want to fill them on the down low, I know a guy who knows a guy.” He paused, considering. “That sounds sketchier than I intended. It’s me. I know my brother and my brother is prematurely old and goes fishing every weekend.” 

Lance snorted. “Maybe I could keep one as an example fish, like the store pet. Oh! And then I could grow some herbs and people could see how it worked first hand!”

“Not a bad idea.” The smile grew to actually include both sides of his mouth. “Glad I thought of it.”

“First you’ll have to introduce me to your secret fish ring.” Lance wiggled his eyebrows and leaned forward, which upset Red and made her dig sharp claws into his leg. “Ow.”

“No sympathy. She’s your problem now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Autumn: for anyone curious, which you’re not, there actually was a real dude named Farmer where I grew up who looked like Santa and was just as jovial. While I did not join 4H, I was required to take an elective in Middle School called “Vocational Agriculture,” wherein on day one we learned how to slaughter cows. And that was the -only- day I stayed, because I went straight to the principal and basically haggled my way out in return for community service. So these kids shilling aquaponics should be GRATEFUL
> 
> Sail: nnnng i loveeee their culture clash and their nt/nd clashes, i know this is based pretty heavily on my adhd but i hope some of you out there can relate <3 
> 
> we do micro fics on twitter and chat with you, its super fun, probably [Autumn Ignited](https://twitter.com/AutumnIgnited) and [SailUnchartedWaters](https://twitter.com/SailUnchartd)
> 
> What? You can get early access to chapters and extra content? No way that's amazing! How do you get it?! I'm so glad you asked, just click this easy link here for FREE [wow, amazing, what a deal](https://linktr.ee/sailunchartedwaters)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big welcome to Kari "Kay" Ryner's intro into this story! if you don't remember who Ryner is she's the leader of the Olkari rebels, the one that kinda mentored Pidge into liking plants. now she's a badass grandma who likes plants.
> 
> If you like what we do, [think about supporting us ](https://linktr.ee/sailunchartedwaters)
> 
> tweet tweet mother fucker [Autumn Ignited](https://twitter.com/AutumnIgnited) and [SailUnchartedWaters](https://twitter.com/SailUnchartd)

~🌸~ 

At about three in the afternoon the following day, once he’d exhausted every available resource on every mobile game on his phone, Lance’s shop door opened. While there had been a bit of a rush that morning (for a funeral, which, super depressing obviously, but great for business. There were probably a ton of old people about to kick the bucket around Peach Springs, so...lucky Lance, he supposed) the store had been dead since noon. 

The woman who walked in was definitely old, but not ‘one foot in the grave’ old. She had her white hair pulled into an elegant french twist and was wearing a smart blue blazer and pencil skirt. She sort of looked like a kinder, more Southerly Meryl Streep from _The Devil Wears Prada_. He liked it. 

Pulling her sunglasses off, she tucked them into her purse as she smiled at him. 

“Welcome to Nemo’s Garden, you here for some flowers? Or I could interest you in a starter kit for your own water garden!” Lance was trying out new introductions and this one at least had gotten him some follow up questions before they dismissed him and bought roses. 

Her smile deepened and she approached the counter before she spoke, which was very unlike everyone else who seemed content to yell from wherever they were standing. 

“Hello, dear. Perhaps you can help me make up my mind.” Her voice was soft and smooth, a little like his grandmother’s. If Abuelita spoke in coffee, this woman spoke in iced mint tea. 

“Of course.” Lance unfolded himself from the counter and stood straighter. There was something about this lady that made him extra aware of his posture. “Special occasion?” 

“You could say that.” Her light eyes sparkled as she smiled, polite but somewhat mischievous. “As a handsome man yourself, what sort of flowers would you recommend bringing to a handsome man?”

“Well,” Lance said as he thought. Usually, people wanted flowers for women or occasions like weddings and anniversaries. It was rare for someone to request flowers for a man. “It’s a little too early in the year for sunflowers, but I think you can’t go wrong with forget-me-nots and roses. It’s a classic and not too girly. Though, if he's more on the wild side, maybe he’d like a bird of paradise?” 

“Forget-me-nots sound perfect.” Her smile grew a little wistful. “So long as they’ll keep outdoors with little maintenance. While I’m sure he would have preferred something wild, I’m not so sure it would prefer the chill of a Virginia March.”

“You want a potted plant?” Usually people wanted cut flowers, which he wasn’t a huge fan of, but that was the way of the world. “For like, the ground?”

That made her giggle, erasing decades from her face. “I think that might be frowned on. His funeral was today, and I’m not sure it would go over well if I snuck in and planted something on top of him. I just wanted something special and unique to bring now that everyone else has left.”

“Oh, you’re the-” Lance coughed, ducking his head. “I’m sorry, about that.”

She waved him off, her smile never faltering. “Ah, it’s alright. I just thought - well, I imagined that you were likely the one providing the flowers for the service, so you’d know best what no one else had bought yet. Now that the service is over and the family is gone, I’d like to go say my goodbyes in peace.” Then, this polished, elegant-looking old woman winked at him. “I had to wait for his wife to leave, you see.” 

“Oh my God,” Lance whispered, then grinned. “Well, you’re in luck. Everyone bought roses and lilies like the boring people they are.” 

She hummed in pleasure as she returned his wicked grin and held out a white-gloved hand. “I knew I could count on you, young man. I’m Kari, but call me Kay.” 

“Lance,” he grinned, taking her hand. It was nice to have a barrier between them. If only everyone wore gloves. Maybe he should start. “It’s nice to meet you, Kay.”

“Lance?” Kay giggled again. “Well, who better to help me, then. Would you believe his name was Lance, too?”

No one, in all of Peach Springs, had ever walked through his doors that was this interesting. “Yeah? I hope he was as charming as me.” He smirked and winked. “You deserve at least that from someone who didn’t leave his wife.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t have wanted that. I haven’t actually seen him since...let’s see...1956? 1957?”

“Uh, wasn’t that like,” Lance said, unsure if he had his dates right, “Vietnam?”

“It was!” She leaned over conspiratorially. “I’ll tell you a secret, Lance the Younger. I lied about my age to work as a nurse, and they were so desperate for hands, no one really bothered to check. I was 17 when I went overseas and a week’s worth of 18 when Lance landed in my ward with a gunshot wound to the arm.”

“No,” Lance breathed out in disbelief. “You’re like, a war punk. Or a nurse punk. Out to save people against the man.” This was definitely the most interesting medical story any granny had ever come to his shop with.

“Well,” she drawled. “I certainly did leave with good intentions, but I can’t pretend it wasn’t also _for_ ‘The Man.’ Or rather, men plural. Nowhere better a girl could be than the army to watch our boys in uniform!” 

Lance whistled low. “So the other Lance came to you all wounded and hurt and you saved him?”

She got that faraway look in her eyes again, along with that soft smile. “Ah, well...I think we saved each other in a way. It’s hard seeing that much violence, and you take comfort where you can. In our case, we had to settle for doing so behind the supply curtain.”

“You’re so badass.” Lance was staring at Kay, open mouthed. Minus the violence, he wished he was brave enough to do what she did. Maybe in another life, in a different reality, there was a version of him that was a hero like her. It was a nice thought. “Do you,” he said, and he had no idea why because he never, ever cared to hang out with strangers but, “want some tea? If, if you have time.”

Kay blinked in surprise before breaking into a wide, sunny smile. “That would be just lovely, Lance. It’s your turn to tell me all about you.”

“I don’t think it’ll be nearly as interesting. Though, I do make my own tea blends. That’s probably the most interesting thing I can tell you.” He led her to the small table in the back room where he took his breaks. After explaining all his various tea blends and finding some vegan cake in the fridge, he had a cute little tea party set for two in a matter of minutes. 

“It might taste a little funny since it’s vegan,” Lance said, placing the cake on the table. 

“Oh, darling.” Kay’s voice was as dry as the look she gave him. “I live at the Ewell Valley Retirement Home. Nothing could possibly be as bad as what they call ‘food.’” 

Lance grinned and sat across from her. “Then I hope you like it. Hunk made it. Well I made it. But it’s Hunk’s recipe and I didn’t do as good as he’d have done. Hunk is like, a culinary genius so I didn’t have a chance in the first place.” He chuckled and she held up her teacup. After clinking them together, Lance realized she hadn’t told him to slow down or explain who Hunk was or anything. She’d just accepted what he’d said as fact and seemingly understood the ramble. It was...refreshing.

They drank their tea and talked for the better part of an hour. He told her all about his life back in California and his friends. They both reminisced about the ocean, her for one in a far off land, and him for the opposite coast. 

Kay took another piece of cake as he launched into a story about the time Pidge and Hunk stayed over to play video games and they had to rush to the hospital because Lance had choked on a sardine. The front door chimed and Lance jumped in his seat.

“Oh, um, that must be the door.” He put his teacup down and looked toward the door separating them from the front. Hovering above his chair, he finally scraped it back. “Wait here, I’ll be right back.”

“I’ll be sure to steal plenty of things and make a mess while you’re gone.” She raised her teacup in salute. 

“I’d expect nothing less.”

Lance wiped the crumbs from his mouth and straightened his bunched-up apron. “Welcome to Nemo’s Garden!” he said as he returned to the front. The rest of his spiel died when he recognized the messy hair of Knife Keith, er, Keith. 

Keith looked about as awkward as Lance felt with his hands stuffed deep in his pockets and his shoulders hunched up. He tried for a smile, but it looked more like a grimace.

“Hey,” Keith greeted. “Sorry, are you busy? I just, uh...you said I should come by…”

“No, yes, I mean. I was just having tea.” He mirrored Keith, stuffing his hands into the front of his apron. “I was almost done. Just hanging out with…” Lance glanced at the storeroom and saw Kay’s white head of hair peeking out. “You don’t need to eavesdrop,” he said to the door.

Kay slunk around the door and her face lit in recognition. “Oh! Keith! Hello dear, are you buying flowers?”

“Kay?” Keith blinked at her, then bit his lip. “Oh, uh, no I was just coming to see the shop, since we...but I can totally come back if you’re - if you -”

"You know each other?" Lance pointed between them. God, people really did know everyone in small towns. 

“Oh, yes.” Kay finally emerged from the back room, all smiles as she gathered her purse from the counter. “Keith’s given me all of my tattoos!”

Well, actually, that made sense. "That's cool. You don't have to leave, though. We could all have tea together, since, you know each other." 

“Ah, I’d better be getting along, actually.” Kay shouldered her purse and looked back and forth between them, fighting off a grin. “If you wouldn’t mind putting something together for Lance Senior, dear?”

“Oh! Oh right. Yes. Sorry.” Lance jumped over the counter and scrambled down. He was still riding high from so much attention and laughter. The prospect of two people paying attention to him was excitedly depressing. As he grabbed paper and ribbon, he imagined them all having a little tea party in the back room eating Hunk’s vegan lemon cake and drinking his homemade tea. It was a nice thought that would never happen. He’d probably come on too strong to Kay and she was sick of him. Not to mention Keith looked three seconds from bolting out the door. 

He was about to go from 100% attention to 0 and he wasn’t looking forward to that crash. 

The shop was silent as he worked, save for Kay and Keith talking in quiet voices. Lance really needed to install a sound system for some background noise. The floor creaked as Lance jogged to gather a small bouquet of forget-me-nots and paused before grabbing a single red poppy. The flower of death and war, but also magic and dreams. He was quick to arrange them and wrap them. He tied it off with a white ribbon instead of the black ones he’d been using all day. 

Turning to Kay, he held it out. “On the house, as a thank you for the tea.”

She shook her head with a smile. “No, I insist. You can’t take it with you, right? And it’s me who should be thanking you for taking the time to entertain an old lady. I haven’t enjoyed myself this much in quite a long time!” Shooting a glance over her shoulder, she winked at Keith. “No offense, dear. You just offer a somewhat different service.”

Keith shrugged with a little smile. “None taken.”

“Oh, and before I forget…” Kay pointed to the little display tank on the counter. “I mean to come back for one of these adorable things. My room doesn’t get enough sun for many plants, but I do miss having green things.”

“Really?” Lance wanted to do a dance right there on top of the counter, but did his best to hold in his excitement. “You won’t regret it! They’re amazing and you can grow herbs for your kitchen. A little biome in your house that feeds you. You’d be the first so I can even help you set it up if you want. It can be a little tricky if you’ve never had to test water before.” 

“I would like that very much. It’s a date, then! They only let us out on Fridays, so I’ll see you next week. And keep the change, dear, I hate carrying coins.” Kay handed Lance a few folded bills and gathered up her flowers, gently hip-checking Keith on her way out the door. “Take care, Keith. You be good.”

Keith huffed, but he was smiling a little as well. “More you than me.”

As soon as the door was closed, awkward silence fell over them again. Keith glanced around, rubbing the back of his leg with the toe of one boot. “...Lotta plants,” he offered. 

Lance unfolded the bills and opened the register. “It’s a flower shop, it’s kinda our thing.” One crisp hundred and two fifties. The bouquet was twelve bucks. “Fuck. Stop her. Is she still out there?” He jumped over the counter and almost slammed into Keith. 

“Hey!” Keith protested, but he followed on Lance’s heels, opening the door just in time to see the bus Kay had boarded pulling away. 

"No…" Lance whined. "No, this is bad." 

“Why? What happened?”

Lance motioned to the bus in defeat. "She mixed up her money. Gave me two hundred on accident." 

“Oohh.” Keith shook his head with a laugh. “I don’t think it was an accident. She does that to me, too. She always just says ‘You can’t take it with you!’ You can try to give it back next time, but she’s kind of a brick wall when it comes to that sorta thing. So good luck.” 

Pouting down at the cash in his hand, Lance sighed. "What do I do?" 

Keith shrugged. “Hang on to it if you like. Give it back when you see her, or try. Sounds like y’all got friendly so I’m sure she’ll be by next Friday like she said.” 

“Yeah.” She’d probably been the first person that really seemed to click with him even if she had been old. He’d felt as relaxed as if he’d been talking to Hunk or Pidge. Wait. “I don’t know what you mean by friendly but I’m not into old ladies.”

“It means,” Keith said, narrowing his eyes, “exactly what it means. Being friendly with people. Which you seem to struggle with, and if I’m the one telling you that, that’s really something. You always this defensive, Flower Boy?”

“I’m not.” Lance pouted. He wasn't; he was just a love him or hate him kinda person and apparently Keith fell on the _hate him_ side. “I- I got you coffee and feed your cat, do unfriendly people do those things?”

“I dunno.” Crossing his arms, Keith gave him a once-over. “Being a good person isn’t the same as being friendly. Just seems like you got a real chip on your shoulder is all.”

Lance stilled. 

He wasn’t a good person? 

He’d given up everything, his whole life to move here and help Lita save the store. To help his brother until he was in a position to take it over. He’d pushed back university and had been working himself to the bone every day for other people. Lance swallowed and swallowed again. _Don’t lose it here. Don’t do it. Hold it together._

Sure, he’d complained and yeah, he didn’t like it, but he was still _doing_ it.

_Not a good person. Not a good person. Not a good person. What have you done, really? Can’t even sell a single tank. You never could finish anything you started._

Lance couldn’t see Keith or the street as he sunk deeper into his mind. The bills grew sweaty in his hand and he pounded the fist into the side of his leg, thunk, thunk, thunk. A tsunami of emotions rode on past words; other children telling him he was cold or emotionless, his girlfriend accusing him of not having feelings, Hunk tsking as he leaned in to whisper that Lance made another mistake. 

He was ruining this just like he ruined everything. Keith was right. Everyone was always right. What had he been thinking? “Oh,” Lance said, his lips struggling to hold his smile. “Yep. Okay.” Everything blurred as tears filled his eyes, but nothing was working. He’d pushed all of his emotions down too far for too long; all the stress was boiling over and spilling through his lashes. 

“Whoa,” Keith said, and it sounded about as stunned as he looked. He held his hands up uselessly, somewhere between reaching for Lance and placating him. “Oh Jesus. I’m - I’m sorry, that was - really uncalled for, um. C’mon, let’s get you back inside, okay?” 

Lance nodded, fisting the tears from his eyes. The bills in his hand scratched his nose and he cringed. Dirty bills next to his face, gross. There was no place to put them and Keith had already seen him breakdown so there was no reason to hide his tears anyway.

Keith held the door open and Lance stepped through, the heating hitting him with a rush of air. Everything felt hot: his chest, his cheeks, his fists, and all he wanted to do was run away. Instead he walked to the counter and uncurled his fist to let the bills free from his clutch. 

Still staring at the counter, Lance croaked, “Sorry.”

Keith fished in his pockets and pulled out a slightly crumpled pack of travel tissues. He slid them into Lance’s line of sight and cleared his throat. “Don’t be. I was outta line.” 

“No. It wasn’t you.” The plastic was curling away from the glue and tiny white dots decorated the pack. _For your convenience_ was written in curling blue script next to a generic brand label. Inside, a few of the tissues had folded onto themselves so that their corners were hidden. Lance opened it and began straightening them out. 

“It’s just,” he was interrupted by a shuddering breath and a hiccup, “been a lot, y’know? I didn’t even realize I was that close to, well, doing that. Sometimes it's hard to tell.” 

“I get that,” Keith said earnestly, voice quiet and gentle. “Do you wanna - like, maybe…” He sighed hard, irritated. “God I’m so bad at this. But do you wanna talk about it? I may say the wrong shit, but I’m a pretty good listener.”

Lance shook his head and pressed the tissues down with his finger. “You don’t even know me.”

“Nope,” Keith agreed. “But I’m also the asshole that made you cry. I owe you this much at least. And, the way I figure it, there’s no better or quicker way to get to know someone than seeing them at their lowest.”

Finally, Lance pulled out a tissue and pressed the packet closed. “You didn’t. I mean you did, but it was more like twisting the knob on the sink. You didn’t create the water, you’re just the unfortunate soul that let it out.” 

“So...how about starting at the beginning?”

At the beginning, huh? Okay. 

With a deep breath, Lance started with the phone call. 

He’d been sitting on the beach, watching Hunk surf when it’d happened. His mom explained the situation, how Lita was in the hospital again and the shop was going under, how Luis wanted to take care of it but it would be moving his whole family and his wife couldn’t leave mid-semester. So, he’d volunteered. 

Lance hadn’t even thought it through, what it’d mean for him and his schooling or his friends. Heck, what it’d mean for his _life._ Somehow his family had been excited. Too excited for Lance to take it back. So he’d poured everything into the decision, everything into a shop he could only remember from childhood. 

He was like a cracked egg and all his gooey insides were spilling out. There was nothing Lance could do to stop his mouth from giving away all his innermost thoughts. It was almost as if Keith was safe _because_ he was a stranger. He wasn’t invested. Not one of Lance’s family or his friends; he didn’t care if everything went perfectly or not. It was kinda cathartic. 

When Lance was done, he’d used up all of Keith's spare tissues and was sitting on the counter, the wad clutched between his fingers as he stared at it. “That all just, built up I guess, and when you said that I wasn’t good. Well, that kinda triggered some uh, feelings that had nothing to do with you. Everything came crashing down all at once and I’m sorry you had to see it.”

Keith had listened wordlessly the entire time, leaning against the counter with his hands in his pockets, but at the end of that whole spiel, he frowned. “I didn’t say you weren’t good. I said the opposite. I said being _good_ wasn’t the same as being _friendly_. I don’t know shit about your morals, but anyone who uproots their life to take care of their gramma’s flower shop and buys cases of cat food for a stranger’s cat has to at least have a little good karma banked.” He gave his head a little toss to clear the long bangs from his eyes. “At least now I guess I know why you’re always looking for insults. I used to do it, too.”

Lance’s head whipped up, and he blinked at Keith. “I’m not looking for insults.”

Keith held up his hands in surrender. “Maybe not. It just seemed that way, is all. You got pissed when I mentioned people wanting to help Mrs. F, you assumed I stole my coffee - and that I pulled a knife on you, let’s not forget that - and just before, as if I was insinuating something between you and Kay. It’s like...I dunno, like you’re looking for reasons to be…” He shrugged. “If you don’t want people in your business or talking to you, that’s fair. It’ll just take a while for folks to get the hint. Trust me. Everyone’s real damn insistent on being neighborly.” 

“It’s not like that.” Was that how he was coming off? And to be fair, Keith _had_ pulled a knife even if they seemed to disagree on that point. Still. He had no idea he was giving off _don’t talk to me_ vibes. Sighing, he threw his wad of tissues in the basket behind the counter and missed. They landed without a sound on the floor. He sighed again. “I’ve been called a lot of things in my life but I’ve never been called _unfriendly._ Normally, I’m _too_ friendly for people. This place is just on a different level.”

That made Keith laugh, shoulders relaxing as some of his awkward tension drained away. “ _Tell_ me about it. It took me years to get used to it. But for what it’s worth, when you do, it is sorta nice. It makes people nosey as hell, but it also means there’s a lot of people looking out for you. But it’s an acquired taste, that’s for sure.” 

“Wait. I thought, well, I assumed you grew up here. Like the South, not Peach Springs specifically. I remember you said Lita helped you when you moved here, but I thought you were a southern boy made out of straw or whatever the phrase is. Is there a phrase? Was that rude?” _Shut up_ , he told himself. God, he could never _stop._

Keith just smiled. “I’m from close by, a city a few hours away. It’s a whole different atmosphere there. Spent a lot of time looking over my shoulder and wondering what the hell people wanted in return for being nice. And yeah, it was your gramma that sort of...bridged the gap, I guess. I think I scared everyone at first.” 

“I believe it. You scared the shit out of me.” Lance swung his feet. They hit the bottom of the counter with a hollow _thunk, thunk_ that sounded _so_ good. It was easy to keep up the rhythm with the way they bounced off the wood.

“Sorry,” Keith said, and he did sound genuinely sorry. “I swear it wasn’t at you. Just that those guys keep giving my friend a hard time, and just about the only thing they respond to is threats more intimidating than they are. And, well…” He looked down at the toe of his boot. “Guess I can be pretty intimidating, huh?” 

Lance laughed and it made his feet pause in midair. “Not like that you aren't.” He leaned over his legs, gripping the lip of the counter for balance, until he could see Keith’s face. “Do you even have a real bad boy bone in your body or is it all leather jackets and ink?”

Shaking his head, Keith smirked back at Lance from behind the mess of his bangs. “Only room for one person to spill their guts in a day, Flower Boy.” 

He stuck out his tongue. Fuck. Had Keith always been this cute? 

“I promised to show you my shop,” Lance said a little too loud. He needed to make sure Keith couldn’t hear his heart beating. “But then I cried all over you, so, how about a tour now that you’ve been thoroughly drenched in my tears?”

Keith pushed himself off the counter, hands still firmly in his pockets, and held Lance’s gaze as he spoke with a half-smile. “One way to break the ice, for sure. Show me what you’ve done with the place.”

“Well this is flowers, I didn’t change much. But _this._ ” He turned to the tanks. “Is the aquaponics!” If there was one thing about Keith that Lance liked it was that he listened. Even when that creeping feeling that he’d been talking way too long about one subject that probably no one cared about started to latch on, Keith never seemed to look bored. He even asked questions. Thinking back on it, he’d been like that at the fair too when Lance had spilled his guts about his brother. It wasn’t often that he found people who could really, truly listen to him about his obsessions. Honestly it was mostly just Hunk. Even Pidge had her limits. 

“This is really cool,” was Keith’s astute assessment at the end, but the tone of his voice made it sound as though he actually meant it. “I think you’ll see people start to pick up on it once word gets around. Maybe few of us can get some to put on display in our shops.”

“You’d do that? Why?”

“Yeah, sure - why not? They’re neat.”

“One thing then. All the fish have to be ethically sourced. No wild fish from your brother. That was just a joke, yeah?”

Keith raised an eyebrow, almost comically high in his skepticism. “Uh...no? What the hell is an ethically sourced fish? You just...catch them. Not like you’re outsourcing their labor or whatever.”

“No, oh my-” Lance huffed, blowing his bangs out of his eyes. “Fish are _wild animals._ If you put one in a tank, in captivity, it hurts them. They’re not used to the water or the small space. You have to buy them from a breeder. You wouldn’t put a deer in your house would you?”

“I mean…”

“Don’t lie to me, those things have ticks.” Lance frowned. “You’d really lock a deer in your house and think that was okay?”

“No,” Keith relented with a little grin. “But I had a feeling you’d believe me if I said I would.”

Lance elbowed him. “I would not.” His smile fell and he grabbed his elbow as if it’d betrayed him, because it _had._ “I’m sorry.”

Keith elbowed him right back. “You did, though. Your face said it all. You probably think everyone in this town keeps deer in their houses, and shares the same wooden bathtub, and are all missing teeth.”

“Well,” Lance said, biting back his grin. Were they flirting? Lance hoped they were. “I might. I mean I wouldn’t put it past any of you. You probably make moonshine in that bathtub, too.” He laughed at that. God, he hadn’t laughed this much in a long time. Today was such a good day.

“I might, if my place had a tub,” Keith admitted with a shy grin. “And you’ll consider it too once you’ve had it.”

“Wait. It’s real?” Lance scoffed. “No it’s not. Now you _are_ lying to me.”

“What? No I’m not. It’s like...vodka. Corn vodka.”

Lance blinked. Shook his head and blinked again. “Corn?” It was almost fun. He liked the way Keith’s eyes narrowed and the way he scrunched his nose whenever Lance said something he didn’t expect. He wanted to do it more. These little weird surprises between them. “That sounds fake. Not real. Lies.” 

“It is so!” Keith protested, then caught on to the gleam in Lance’s eyes that said he was being fucked with. “Ask Farmer, I’m sure he’ll be happy to introduce you. But don’t _ask_ him. Y’know.”

"No I don't know." Lance bumped him with his shoulder. "C'mon, let me show you the back room. Also, I can totally drink." 

Keith scoffed. “What, tea?”

"Tea, yes. _And_ booze." He held the door open for Keith. "Actually I make my own moonshine, teashine!" 

“You…” Keith had already passed through before what Lance said caught up to him and he turned, expression flat. “ _Wow_. I don’t even know how to reply to that.” 

"Okay, so it's not alcohol. I just dry my own herb and flower combinations, but it's homemade. Isn't that like, the only prerequisite to being moonshine?" 

“Alright, that was so cute I gotta give it to ya,” Keith said, then stopped mid-chuckle with wide eyes. He immediately looked away and cleared his throat. “So uh - do the, um, flowers - are from your shop? That. Uh. Become tea?”

Oh yeah, fuck yeah. They were definitely flirting. A rush went through Lance all the way down to his toes. He _loved_ flirting. "No, those are for selling. Do you make the murals on your wall with your tattoo ink?" he snickered as he stepped closer. He wanted to test the boundaries, see how far Keith would let him go. 

Keith didn’t back away, but his eyes did go wide, and his face turned the color of teacup roses. “No,” he stammered. “I...did it with a toothbrush?”

Lance whistled low. “I love a man who’s creative.” He shifted so that the back of his hand brushed against Keith’s. A whisper of a touch, soft enough to be an accident. 

“Tea,” Keith blurted, stepping back and scratching at his neck nervously. “Uh. Weren’t you gonna show me your tea?”

Giggling, he pointed to the wall behind Keith. “It’s right there. You’re about to run into it.”

“Oh.” He turned around, almost banging his hip against the iron garden chair. “Yup. Yes. There it is.” 

Placing one hand on the workbench and the other on his hip, Lance half trapped Keith between him and the tea. “What kind do you like? I mostly make flower blends but I did grow some green and white last year that I have leftover.”

“You’re uh, gonna have to surprise me.” Keith licked his lips and tried for a smile. “I don’t really know anything about tea except for ‘sweet’ or ‘unsweet.’”

“Hmm…” Lance eyed him and licked his smile just to see if he could get Keith to look down at his lips. “I don’t think I could make anything sweet enough to satisfy you.” 

It worked like a charm. Keith’s eyes immediately locked on his lips and he mostly mumbled, “Not so sure about that.”

No one had ever looked at him like that, as if _he_ was something sweet to taste. All Lance cared about was more, more, more attention and Keith seemed ready to give it. Lance hoped he wasn’t reading the situation wrong because he was about to _try._ “Yeah? You think so? You seem like a challenge,” Lance dropped his voice along with his lashes. He wasn’t that much taller than Keith but since most of his height was being used to lean around him Lance was able to blink up. 

“I, uh…” Keith didn’t look off-put at all, but he did look like he was seconds away from either bolting or having a heart attack. He fidgeted and glanced down at Lance again, helpless. “I...guess?” 

_‘I guess’_ wasn’t really what Lance was looking for. He searched Keith's eyes, trying to find a spark of longing or heat. Something, _anything,_ that told Lance yes, they were both into this and it would be fun to keep going. Just like the unsure answer, all Lance found was more confusion. _Country boys,_ Lance thought and sighed. “Then the clover is probably the sweetest I have.” He tapped one of the wooden drawers. “I mix it with strawberry. You’re not allergic to berries are you?”

“No,” Keith said around a sigh. Not an obviously relieved one, but more - well who knows how much someone could emote into thin air, but it sort of sounded disappointed. “It’s actually my favorite.”

Lance stepped back and nodded to the table. “Sit down and I’ll make you some.” 

Keith did as he was told, scraping the chair too fast and too loud for the tiny room. 

Pulling out the entire drawer, Lance went over to his electric teapot and pulled down two mugs. Fuck, when was the last time Lance had even made out with someone? Especially a stranger in a back room, _especially especially_ someone as hot as Keith? Months. Never? At least on that last bit. 

Stuffing the tea into bags, he peeked over his shoulder. Yeah, probably close to never. That stoner, uh, Rolo? Was pretty hot and his girlfriend was even hotter but neither of them really compared to Keith. 

The kettle clicked and he poured the water into the cups, watching red swirl out of the bags. As the scent drifted to his nose, he relaxed. There was no one here he could make out with or even a place for him to blow off steam to get high and cuddle. It was just him and his plants and old ladies who talked too much about their hips. It wasn’t his fault that Keith was pretty much the only warm body for miles. Yeah. Lance was thinking with his dick, that was the problem. He should take a nice Lance spa day for himself and then maybe he wouldn’t be tempted to attack defenseless country boys in the back of his shop.

“...Penny for your thoughts,” Keith prompted softly from behind him. “You need any help?”

Lance yelped and spun, his hand almost knocking over one of the mugs. “Nope. No. I’m fine,” he said grabbing both mugs before he _did_ spill anything. “I don’t have sugar and I don’t do honey so, it’s probably not sweet to you. You don’t have to drink it if you don’t like it.”

Keith smiled and held out his hands. “It’s alright, I’m sure I’ll manage. Thanks, Lance.”

Lance’s toes curled in his shoes. His name sounded nice in all warm tones.

"Yeah, no problem." He sipped his tea. Even if he couldn’t pinpoint why, it really did taste sweeter than usual. 

~🌸~ 

Lance swept the floor as he hummed to his phone, blasting music as loud as its tiny speaker could. His morning routine was his favorite part of the day. There was just something romantic about working in the pale light of dawn as flowers opened their petals to say good morning. 

There was scratching and mewling at his door. “Right, the food,” he reminded himself. Red felt like a regular customer now. A very demanding customer. 

He ran to the storage room to grab a fresh can. He was back within seconds, but according to Red’s cries he might as well have taken years. Kneeling down, he dumped the food in the bowl and scratched her haunches. She purred as she scarfed it, making the purrs hitch. “I’m glad you stopped by, but I need to open shop. And now I’m running late.”

Lance sighed as he stared up at the brightening sky. It really could be pretty here when it tried. Not that anything was as beautiful as the sun rising over the waves. His knees cracked as he stood to prop open the door. All the flowers’ petals were open and the sun glared angrily through the window, glinting against the aquariums. Goodbye romantic morning.

Soft fur rubbed against his leg. Red looked up with her huge pleading eyes shining in a cloud of sooty fur. His heart clenched. As he knelt down, she gave him another indignant meow. “Oh, did you eat all your treats? You’re such a good girl.” He scratched her chin and she nuzzled his fingers.

“MAARR,” Red agreed, with all the feminine delicacy of a buzzsaw. She stood on her kitty tiptoes to rub her face on his hand, his knee, his shoe, sliding her tail along behind her to reinforce that she loved him, and she was very good, and the plate was very empty. 

“Keith is going to get mad at me if I make you fat.” Lance scratched her back and watched as her tail curled into a perfect question mark. “But what he doesn’t know can’t hurt him, right?” Reaching over, he grabbed the plate from the sidewalk and stood, holding the door open for Red.

They had another five minutes to enjoy their illicit affair before Keith was opening the front door. 

“Hey Lance, it’s Keith, have you seen - oh. Of course you have.” 

Lance and Red both froze as if they’d been caught, which they had. Lance was leaning over the counter, head laying in the crook of his elbow, as he watched Red eat. Red continued to chew as she glanced up at Keith and then went back to the fish-shaped snacks.

Keith stood with his arms crossed, glaring at his runaway cat with hot irritation. His hair was messier than the day before, the bags under his eyes ever-present, his unchanging uniform of ripped black jeans and white t-shirt disheveled. “You little sneak. I was _trying_ to feed you!” 

Inside Lance’s shop, Keith stood out like a sore thumb. Rough around the edges and tattooed, he was surrounded by natural wood and delicate flowers. A perfect contrast. 

Lance’s heart sped up. He had a soft spot for bad boys and Keith looked like a broken heart in jeans.

“She acted like you’ve been starving her for days so I gave her some more.” 

“She has plenty of food, and three beds, _and_ a treat jar for customers. She’s a con artist and you’re her new favorite sucker.” Keith crossed the room and stared hard at his cat, who continued to munch and give no fucks about his presence. 

"I'm okay with that." Lance bonked his forehead against Red's. She allowed it for a full second until she nudged him away to get at more food.  “Out of everyone and everything here in the Middle of Nowhere, America, Red is the easiest to talk to. You can’t break us apart with your jealous ways.”

Keith looked more than a little offended. “Hey! You and I had tea and a nice chat at least. She’s done nothing but make demands.” 

“You liked our chat?” Lance smirked, hiding his smile behind his fists as he stared up at Keith through his lashes. “I thought you were too busy politely choking down tea without sugar, pretending I didn’t notice how miserable you looked.”

“Ha ha,” Keith deadpanned. “Santa Monica’s got jokes.”

“Santa… I’m from Long Beach. Santa Monica is more north.”

Keith smirked back. “And you’re not in the Middle of Nowhere USA, so now we’re even.” 

“Fair,” Lance conceded. He lifted himself onto the counter and slid across, swinging his legs over the side so that he was sitting next to where Keith was standing. “You’re a lot more snarky then I thought Southerners were.”

The eyebrow raise Keith gave him was very pointed. “Yeah, it’s a real shame. Since we all have the same sense of humor and personalities, I’m a real outcast. But since you do yoga and are vegan, you must be like every other Californian. Z’that about right, _Long Beach_?” 

Lance threw his head back and laughed, kicking his feet. Oh, he hadn’t been that called out in a long ass time. He came back down, wiping an eye with the palm of a fist. “You got me there.” He leaned in close and blocked his mouth as if he were telling a secret. “Even worse? I surf.” Immediately he giggled at his own joke, hiding his smile behind a fist as he waited for Keith to laugh.

And he did - well, he chuckled softly, which was probably about as outrageous as his laughter got. “Yeah, that seals it. Though I probably could’a guessed from your highlights and those pretty freckles.”

“You think they’re pretty?” Lance brushed his fingers along his cheekbone, imagining the dark spots that were sprinkled there. He’d always hated them, especially when they grew darker after summers spent under the sun. 

Keith meanwhile looked as if he’d been electrocuted. Eyes wide and wild, he simply stammered, “Uh, yeah, sure do.” Quickly, he ran a hand through his unruly mane of black hair, wincing when it got caught and tangled. “We should, uh, let you work.”

“We?” Lance sat back and looked down at Red. Right, the cat. She was licking a white tipped paw in front of an empty plate. “Yeah. Okay.” 

For some reason the thought of Keith leaving and taking Red made him feel very lonely. They were becoming friends, shit talking friends, but those were the best kind and he was so hungry for the small interactions between them. He hadn’t bantered like that to anyone since leaving home. Lance already hated when people had to go home or leave, but it was worse when the only person in all of Peach Springs who talked about something other than hip problems left.

He slipped off the counter and pulled Red with him mid lick. Her tongue was halfway out as he handed her over.

Keith took Red, cuddling her like a baby, and mumbled a quick, “Thanks, see ya.” He was almost out the door when he turned around, eyes squeezed shut before he flashed them open and asked, “Hey, you been to Goolrick’s yet?” 

Lance was burning a hole into the floor trying not to feel abandoned. At the sound of Keith's voice he paused and looked up. "What's a Goolricks?" 

“It’s that pharmacy down the road? Famous for its old-timey soda fountain, but they make pretty standard sandwiches and stuff. I usually go for lunch if you - I mean, you probably pack your lunch in like hand-woven burlap or something - but if you wanted to...I dunno...go? Later?” 

"Wait. The pharmacy sells food? Double wait. The fountain Stella was talking about was for soda?" Buffeted by the storm of words, Lance really wished there was some kind of Google translate for Southern shit. “Also what kind of name is _Gool_ ricks?”

Keith chuckled again, low and breathy. “Why don’t I walk you there later and show you? You up for a little horizon-expanding?”

"I think I have to now. A pharmacy that’s also a restaurant? I gotta see this." Lance shook his head, rattling his thoughts around like little plastic shapes trying to fit into the holes in his brain. "Guess my burlap lunch is now dinner." 

Grinning crookedly, Keith shrugged. “Guess so. Later, then.” 

"Yeah, see ya." Lance held up one hand as Keith left. 

A pang of loneliness struck him breathless, rolled off, and filled the whole shop as the bell quieted. Lance normally liked the stillness of his plants and the soft sounds of work, so much different than the loud call center he'd come from. But now it just felt _empty_. 

Keith was nothing like his friends back home. He was sloppy and edgy and didn't brush his hair. He looked like the sun was his worst enemy and like he hadn’t been to sleep in the last century. On the other hand, he was also quick witted and Lance liked when his grumpy expression melted whenever he looked at Red. And somehow, Keith kept talking to him despite their rocky start and their rocky friendship. 

With a sigh that he wasn't sure was for home or his new friend, Lance went back to work. The store stayed pretty dead for the rest of the morning. A few grandmas came in for their daily table flowers and paid with stacks of pennies, but they were few and far between. It gave Lance too much time to himself. 

When he had too much time to himself, his thoughts became dangerous. Like, what Keith might look like if he took better care of himself. Or, what it might be like if Lance really stayed here and settled down. Growing old like Abuelita around flowers and living a slow life in a slow town. All of his thoughts felt dislodged again and he shook his head to put them back. 

Lonely thoughts weren't real thoughts. As soon as Nemo’s Garden was stable and he’d earned back his money, he’d go home where he belonged. Where people spoke at normal speeds.

Lance busied himself with cleaning his already clean shop. The clock hand ticked by like a snail. Every time he checked his phone, only a minute had passed. He tried his best to stop checking it and just concentrate on the inventory list he’d decided to start. 

It didn’t work. Instead, he sat with the paper under his phone as he watched the time pass. When it hit noon, Lance shoved his phone in his pocket and threw his pen down. He wasn’t going to sit in this weird headspace. He was going to get shit done.

True to his word, Keith swung by around 12:30 after locking Red firmly inside Area 51. He’d found Lance behind the counter rearranging his succulents by color and size. He’d cleaned up since Lance had seen him that morning. His hair was damp and fluffy from a shower, and while his outfit was similar, the shirt was clean and unwrinkled. It showed off his tattoo sleeves, making the color and bold lines pop. Lance tried not to stare. 

“Yo, I’m almost done.”

“Take your time.” Keith shrugged and took to puttering around, admiring the window displays. It drew his attention across the street to his own shop, where he apparently had a new window display of his own. 

Keith called him over and pointed. “Your lady-love’s not too happy about being left behind.”

Lance grinned. Red was in the window, white belly and mittens on full display as she pawed at it and howled in protest. 

“Aw, my baby misses me.” He wiggled his finger at her so it looked like he was petting her. “Did you get put in jail to starve while Keith got to leave and eat lunch?”

Keith rolled his eyes and muttered something about it serving her right before he stuffed his hands in his pockets and jerked his head towards the pharmacy. “All set?” 

Lance nodded. The nod grew slower as his brain sang. It wasn’t really a song-song. It was more like a list of things he needed to leave the house in a kind-of-sort-of tune. As he silently sang it, he touched his pockets to make sure they were there; _keys, phone, wallet, backpack, books, if you forget them you’ll get looks, jacket, lunch and then you’re done, out the door to have some fun._ He didn’t need his backpack or books (man, he should update his song) and he was going out to eat lunch so that just left… “Wait, let me grab a jacket.” He ran to the back and slung it on. “Okay, ready-o,” he singsonged, motioning to the door.

When Keith didn’t reply _let’s go_ , to finish the rhyme, Lance muttered it under his breath.

The street they were on - Main Street- was double sided and lined with brick sidewalks. The businesses all shared walls, so it gave the impression that each side of the street was one massive building with mismatched roofs and doors. It made it hard to tell where one business ended and one began. It was the one thing Lance really loved about the street. It looked like a storybook. 

They walked past two antique stores, a used book store, the coffee shop, and the jewelry boutique, a novelty cat item store, and an honest-to-god record store. Goolrick’s was at the end with a sign that looked like it had been there since neon signs were invented. It loomed over a few outside tables with dusty umbrellas. 

Keith held the door for Lance. “After you.”

“Wow, I didn’t realize this was a date,” Lance laughed, punching Keith in the arm as he passed.

Keith gave a weak “heh” and rubbed his arm.

The inside was right out of _Happy Days_ . Lance felt like he should be wearing a poodle skirt and saying _gee willikers,_ but not in a good way. It was creepy to step so solidly into the past. The _Pleasantville_ vibes were off the charts and Lance did his best not to imagine everyone as serial killers. He was failing.

The countertop on the left was shiny chrome with red barstools lining it all the way down. To the right were a few booths with red napkin holders and red plastic upholstery. In the back, there were a few shelves with the essentials you’d _actually_ expect from a place called “pharmacy.” It didn’t make Lance feel any better about the situation. 

Behind the counter sat the crowning glory of Goolrick’s: the old metallic soda fountain itself, manned by a bored-looking girl in her late teens. And beside her, chattering away with an old man in a John Deere cap, was Stella _from down the street_. She glanced up when the door chimed and her whole face brightened, the red of her mouth splitting in an obscenely wide smile.

With growing horror, Lance realized that she matched. She matched her own creepy shop. 

“Well hey there! When I said you should swing by, I didn’t think you’d be bringing this grumpy old ragamuffin with you!” That was evidently directed at Lance, because the “ragamuffin” in question pursed his lips in an annoyed frown. 

“Wouldn’t insult me, Stella - you’d lose your best customer.” Stella waved Keith off with a click of her tongue.

“Don’t need that kind of sass, do I, Daryl?” Stella smacked the old man on the shoulder, and he grunted into his egg salad. 

Lance walked as if drawn by the shining machine with its curved spigots and chrome handles. It looked nothing like the plastic things at fast food restaurants. “How does it work?” he asked the room.

Stella laughed her horse laugh again. “Well, why don’t you tell me what you like, Sugar, and I’ll show ya?”

“Uh.” There were no labels of brands to choose from. “Soda?”

That delighted Stella to no end. “Give me a ballpark flavor and I’ll set you right up.”

“Root Beer? I don’t like Barqs though. Dr. Pepper? Coke?” Lance looked at Keith, panicked. “I hate Coke.”

“You could pick a fruit or something too. Vanilla, chocolate,” Keith explained patiently. “D’you like strawberry?”

“I prefer cherry,” he said hopefully.

“On it!” Stella chirped. 

“He can have my ice cream,” Keith cut in, then glanced at Lance. “If he wants it.” 

"Whaddya mean-" Lance began to ask but got cut off by the weird look between Keith and Stella. 

“Aah, gotcha.” Stella gave him a big, obnoxious wink. “Say no more.”

She took a large glass down from the shelf and pumped a few shots of syrup into it, then pulled one of the levers to fill the glass with seltzer. After some additional behind-the-counter banging and puttering, she set the pink, frothing, ice-cream topped glass in front of Lance before garnishing it with a cherry and sticking a striped straw in the side. 

“Here you go, pumpkin, tell me what you think - cherry soda with soy vanilla.” 

“Does it have high fructose corn syrup in it?” Lance bent down so he was eye level with the scalloped glass and glared at the bubbles as if they contained poison. 

“Nope. All the real stuff, just like back in the day.” 

Keith leaned on the counter next to him and murmured, just for Lance, “You don’t hafta drink it if you don’t want to.”

“If it’s vegan and real, then I’m fine.” Lance straddled the stool, his shorts riding up his thigh to disappear under the hem of his open jacket, and set his sneakers on the little footrest.

He fished the straw into his mouth with his tongue and took a tentative sip. Eyes widening, he took a long gulp. "This is fucking fantastic," he said, straw still in his mouth. 

Stella laughed again, all teeth and crinkled eyes. “Well if that ain’t a compliment I don’t know what is. What can I get you boys to eat?” 

“Same as usual,” Keith said for himself, then pointed to the simple menu on the wall for Lance. “See? Food at the pharmacy. Mostly sandwiches and breakfast but the meatloaf is-“ He stopped himself. “Uh. Not an option, so.”

Lance scanned the menu. Everything had some kind of meat. "Tuna salad without the tuna?" 

Keith blinked. “So...lettuce and tomato on bread? They might have hummus; Is that…something vegan?” 

“It’s normally vegan. It’s okay. I’ll just eat…” He bit his lip, staring at the menu as if a vegan option would pop up. 

“Wait wait, I got this. Hey, Stella.”

She huffed and put a hand on her hip. “Hay is for horses.”

Keith grinned at her. “Where’s Sonny? Is he working today?” 

Stella lifted a brow. “In the back. You want him?”

“Would you?”

Keith settled back on his stool and smirked at Lance. “Sonny’s her son. He’s always messing around with that kinda stuff so I bet he knows what they’ve got that’ll work.” 

“Messing around with _that kind of stuff…_ You mean vegan stuff? You make it sound like an illicit drug.”

“No. Baking and making recipes and - hey, Sonny.”

Sonny - a lanky boy with his mother’s gap teeth but darker brown hair - came from the backroom to shake Keith’s hand. He was vaguely familiar and Lance leaned in, squinting at him. 

“Sonny, this is Lance - Lance, Sonny.” Keith introduced them quickly.

Lance lifted his fingers and chin in greeting. “Yo. Do I know you?” 

Sonny shrugged. “We’re all brothers on this floating rock around the sun.”

No, no. Lance was very sure he’d seen that mop of hair before if only he could… “The gang!”

“Huh?” Keith asked as Sonny nodded and said sagely, “Yup, the gang’s all here.”

“Oh.” Realization lit Keith’s face and he nodded to Lance, mouthing _from the alley._ He jerked his head at Stella and looked at Lance pointedly. Clearly he didn’t want to bring up that her son was almost ground to mincemeat in a nearby alley.

Lance swallowed and grinned his lie. “Yeah, the gang’s all here, alright. Me, n’you, n’Keith.”

Sonny gave Lance a lazy smile. “Rad.”

“Right,” Keith interrupted. “Whatever. So Lance is vegan, and your mom-“ 

“Doesn’t think food is food unless it’s dripping in bacon grease.” Sonny snorted. “Don’t worry man, the winds of change are blowing. Slowly, the people are being enlightened.” 

“...Sure.” Keith clearly had no time for Sonny’s mellow brand of suspicious-smelling philosophy. “Help us out.” 

“Can do, my brother. Tell me,” he turned to Lance. “What relationship do you have with the avocado?” 

“I’m from California.” Sonny’s attitude was the closest to home he’d felt since landing. He grinned, slipping into the familiar feeling of talking to stoners. “We’re practically siblings.”

Sonny hummed - literally gave a long, thoughtful note that was more like meditating than thinking aloud. “A beautiful bond. And where do you fall on the spectrum of Daiya cheese? Are we with it?” 

“How did you get Daiya cheese out here?” Lance leaned forward like Sonny had the key to the universe, which meant he leaned over Keith. 

Keith gave an annoyed grunt and shoved him back. 

“There’s a Wegman’s a couple towns down. Just gotta buy in bulk, my friend.” Sonny cracked his knuckles. “So that’s a yes? Allow me to reunite you with the pleasures of home.”

“Yes. _Please_ ,” Lance practically moaned. “I haven't had cheese in forever. Give me that hit.”

Keith scoffed. “Careful or you’ll wind up with more than fake cheese in your sandwich.” 

In another ten minutes, Keith had his BLT, chips, and a strawberry malt, and Lance had a sandwich that consisted of thick, toasted seven grain bread, mashed avocado and his much-beloved Daiya cheese all on a nest of sprouts. A small cup of spiced roasted walnuts sat on the side. Sonny pointed to them. “I insist that you give me your most expert opinion on these.” 

Watching him take a bite, Keith quirked a smile. “You look happy. Food at the pharmacy not so bad?” 

Mouth full of avocado and cheese, Lance nodded, squeezing his eyes closed to swallow, and sighed. “I’m not sure if this counts since it’s off the menu, but if Sonny’s here, I’m here. God, you have to try this, it's so good.” He held up his bitten sandwich.

Keith chuckled and shook his head. “No thanks. I wouldn’t dream of stealing any from you when you’re having a moment there. And Stella might give you flack about it, but she’ll always make sure you get what you need.” 

“You’re missin’ out, dude.” Lance took another bite, letting his eyes flutter shut as he chewed. 

“I’ll take your word for it.”

Lance swallowed and quirked his head. “But I thought you said you always have to bring your own soy milk and stuff. Why is there soy ice cream?”

Keith colored a little as he stirred his malt. “Stella knows I like ice cream. So.”

“Aw, that’s kinda cute.” Lance pointed with his elbow at Keith’s tattoos. “Local sandwich lady buys tattooed edgelord his own special ice cream for his grumpy tummy. You’re all hard on the outside but your insides are soft.”

It took Keith a minute to recover from choking before he could glare at Lance. “It’s not like that - it’s just - shut up.”

Lance had actually forgotten about his drink. It was currently melting into itself looking quite sad. Pulling it over, he fished out the cherry. “Lactose intolerant, owns a fuzzy cat who has him wrapped around her little paw, and makes sure his friend gets vegan food when it's not even on the menu. Real hardcore.”

It may have been possible for Keith to look grumpier, but not very likely. “Never said I was hardcore. And you’re _welcome_ by the way.” 

Lance popped the cherry, stem and all, into his mouth. "Thanks."

“Uh…” Keith furrowed his brow. “Is that a vegan thing too?”

"This?" Lance pointed to his mouth as he worked the cherry stem, keeping the berry in his cheek. At Keith's nod, he pulled it out to show him. It was tied in a loose knot and glistened faintly with syrup and spit. "No; it's a sex thing." 

The black of Keith’s hair contrasted severely with the shade of red he turned while simultaneously trying to pretend it hadn’t happened. “Uh. Oh. That’s uh...impressive.” 

Lance chewed on the cherry as he watched Keith change colors. Now, it could've been the fact that he'd mentioned sex so casually in a very conservative town, but Lance had a gnawing feeling that there might be a different reason for all of Keith's new coloring. He could push it, or…who was he kidding? He was going to push it. 

"Like it? I could teach you, if you don't know how." He slid the stem over the counter towards Keith's plate. 

Keith burned redder. “I uh...don’t think I could...I mean.” He reached forward and picked up the stem, twirling it between his thumb and forefinger, and cleared his throat to start over. “Being artistic kinda comes with the job, but we can’t all be _this_ good. I’d need something a whole lot bigger to practice on. ‘Fraid I’d choke on this.”

Lance let that comment slide. "You know," he said, voice low as he leaned in as close to Keith as he dared, "that was in my mouth." 

Keith smirked, regaining a little of his control. “Some of us down here like to get our hands dirty, Long Beach.” 

That went straight to Lance’s stomach. They were doing that thing again, where they were flirting but Keith may not have even realized it. Butterflies wiggled inside, nervous and excited. He sat up, turning back to his plate. “Then you can keep it.”

Chuckling that low and breathy laugh, Keith tugged a napkin from the holder and rolled the stem up. “You want me to tattoo it on you? Immortalize your genius?” 

“Please, it’s not a rare skill. You should see my friend Pidge. She can unwrap a _Starburst_. Mine always get too soggy before I can unwrap them and then it’s just a mess.” Lance sipped at his drink to keep himself from staring.

“Heh. Is that the kind of stuff y’all do for party tricks out there? I can open a bottle of beer with a lighter, but that’s from necessity, not skill.” Keith leaned back and stretched his arms up until his back cracked. “Not very fancy or impressive unless you ever need your beer popped for you. I can do it with my forearm, too, in a pinch.”

“Do you smoke?” Lance picked at his sprouts, eating them one at a time.

“No.” Keith shook his head. “Quit when I was about fifteen. But everyone carries a lighter one way or the other.” He stopped and frowned a little at the counter. “Actually, I dunno why that is. Sure comes in handy, though.”

Lance breathed a sigh of relief. Quitting at fifteen meant he’d started younger. He wondered exactly how young, but that wasn’t any of his business. The point was he wouldn’t have to smell it. Not that he cared. It wasn’t like they were kissing.

“I guess. Well, it's not what I do for party tricks or anything. It’s more like a leftover skill from Jr. high. No one cares about cherry stems or candy wrappers unless we’re all drunk and making fun of ourselves for ever thinking those things were important.” 

“Well, if you’re ever in the mood to watch a bunch of morons with Stetsons scarring their arms trying to open up beer bottles, you can drive out to Miller’s Field any Friday night. Otherwise, you’re on your own for entertainment.” 

“Stetsons? Like, a gun?”

This time, Keith’s laugh was a little louder, a raspy, short giggle that he muffled into his malt. “Nope. Just a hat.”

“Oh.” That was stupid of him. “I’ve never heard of them.” Lance slurped the last of his soda, stopping once his straw made the rude noise. “What do you do for fun, then? Go out to, uh, Miller’s on Friday?”

“Not usually my scene. Lotta people.” Propping his chin in his palm and his elbow fully on the counter, Keith thought aloud. “Not much, really. Personal art projects, I guess. Watch TV. Take my bike out. I’m pretty much always at the shop. What about you? Besides surf.” 

“I have a bike too,” Lance said, excitement lifting his whole body. He bounced on the stool as he turned to fully face Keith. “I ride it to work every day. I have a Franklin but I want a Co-op CTY. It’s just too expensive. I had to ship it here which was probably just as expensive as buying a Co-op. But, it was too hard to say goodbye, y’know? I’m kinda attached to the Franklin now. What do you have? A Mongoose? You look like the kind of guy who’d like a Mongoose.”

Keith’s grin made his nose scrunch and his eyes light up. “Ha, not quite, but I’d like to know why you say so. Right now, I’ve got a Kawasaki, a zX6R, for getting around, but I bought a shell of an old Harley two years ago and I’ve been fixing it up ever since. It’s actually almost done.” His eyes softened, as did his smile. “That was always gonna be my sign that I’d really made it, y’know? My skills inside my own shop allowed me to buy my own bike.” 

His mix up would normally make Lance feel really stupid, but somehow Keith hadn’t made him feel stupid at all. They didn’t have the same kind of bikes in common and that was okay because Keith made it okay. “Guess you get to find a new goal.” Keith’s hair fell in front of one eye and Lance’s fingers twitched to brush it back. He made a fist and stood up. “Wanna take a walk before we head back to the grindstone?”

“Yeah sure.” Keith’s smile warmed at something, something in the way Lance had spoken or what he’d said, but he didn’t have a chance to analyze it before Keith was standing. “Let me square up with Stella and I’ll be right with you. Then you can tell me what’s so great about a Co-op CTY.” 

“Woah, woah. You’re not paying for all this yourself. I have money.” Lance reached for his wallet.

Keith held up a hand. “It’s not an insult; I know you do. But I asked, and you’re new, and that’s just how it goes. I want to. May I?” 

“Only if I get it next time.” Lance crossed his arms, glaring stubbornly at Keith. 

“Sure. Next time, we’ll just face Stella ourselves and tell her what to get you without dragging Sonny in.” Keith crossed the length of the pharmacy to catch Stella at the register. Once he’d paid for their meals, she waved to Lance and pressed a small bag into Keith’s hands. When Keith returned, he shook his head. 

“Cupcakes. You and I are both too thin apparently and need them. You can have them if you want, but…” He lowered his voice. “Stella’s a really shit baker.” 

Lance hid his burst of laughter behind his hand. “It’s okay. They’re not vegan, so I can’t.”

“Right. Shit. I’ll get it down eventually.” Keith called out a farewell and held the door open for Lance once more. 

_It’s not a date,_ Lance told himself. People were just nicer down here, holding doors and paying for meals. He had to keep his heart in check every time Keith was even a little nice. The sun was warm and the wind was light as he stepped out. Stretching with a deep breath of spring air, he turned to Keith. “So you want to know all about the wonderful world of city bikes, well, I hope you like walks because I could talk for hours about them.”

“Sure do,” Keith said easily, then held the bag up, grinning. “‘Sides, we got to get far enough away that I can trash these without Stella ever knowing.” 

“Good plan. Down with the cow and sugar industry.” Lance raised his fist as he marched the opposite direction of their shops, heading towards the end of Main Street. 

After explaining exactly why Keith was such a Mongoose person, they were far enough that they started searching for a trash can to toss the cupcakes. He then launched directly into why Co-ops were such a good bike and how he’d grown to love Franklins even though they were cheaper. Keith nodded as Lance explained how he and the Franklin had the same aesthetic and they went together like jelly and more jelly.

“Once you put a basket on it, it becomes too cute to get rid of, y’know? It’s even better when I fill it with flowers and ride around as if the flowers are so important they need to be transported wherever I go while other people have their book bags or groceries inside. Like, how kids have pockets full of toys and leaves instead of money? It’s that feel.”

When he glanced over, Keith was listening intently, a content smile warming his face. He ran a hand through his hair to get it out of his eyes from where the breeze was catching it on his lashes, fluffing it up even more. “Your gramma used to do something like that. She carried a basket around when she ran errands. We’d find sprigs of ‘em in our keyholes and mailboxes and stuff.” 

“She did that?” Lance was genuinely surprised. “I didn’t know. I just assumed she stayed in the shop all day.”

“Hell nah. She was always poking her head in everybody’s shops and stopping to chat. Well, not so much mine, but she never left me out. She’s a sweet lady.” He chuckled. “Pretty sure I know who you take after now, too.” 

“What does that mean?” Lance was still trying to process Lita sticking her nose into a tattoo parlor. 

“Weelll…” Keith drawled in that slow, drawn-out way everyone did around town. He stuck his hands in his back pockets and seemed to think his answer out carefully. “You just seem similar - a real spitfire, but - you know, sweet, too. Know what you want, not afraid to go get it. But,” he shrugged and let his head fall to the side so he could regard Lance. “I’ve only known you for about - what, a couple of weeks? A month?”

Lance crossed his arms. “I have a strong personality. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Never said there was.” Keith raised his eyebrow. “Remember our talk about looking for insults?”

“That’s not what I’m doing. I swear, it's not like that.” Why was Keith always calling him out like that? “It’s just. I don’t know. It doesn’t matter.” Lance pouted.

“Relax.” Keith shrugged. “I’m teasing.” 

Lance sighed, stopping where he was and squatting down. He pulled his jacket closed around his legs so he was just a head and sneakers. “I’m tired. You’re too good at banter and I’m rusty since I haven’t talked to anyone in weeks. You win. Leave me here to become a tree.”

His hood got a tug. “How come?” 

“Trees don’t have to interact with people and I can’t mess up if I’m a tree.”

“No, I mean - why haven’t you talked to anyone in weeks?” 

Lance looked up from the seed he’d made himself into. “Busy with the shop. I mean, I guess I talked to people. Like, put that plant over here, please stop sending Keith’s mail to my shop, no I don’t sell sunflowers, they’re out of season, but I haven’t really talk-talked. Besides Kay. And you.”

“Good thing you’ve got a new girlfriend that’s gonna demand all your attention now that you’ve wooed her away.” Keith squatted down next to Lance, resting his elbows on his knees. “She’s real good at listening when you just gotta...you know, talk something out.” 

“Red’s _your_ cat. I can’t just go over there and talk to _your_ cat. That’s weird.” He turned away so he was looking at the street. 

“Sure you can.”

“Stop being so nice to me; my poor west coast brain can’t understand it.”

Keith shrugged. “Suit’cherself.” He reached over and pushed on Lance’s arm hard, sending him toppling over. 

Lance yelped as he fell onto his ass, legs spread out in front of him. “Hey! What was that for?”

Keith shrugged again. “You asked me to be more of a jackass. How’d I do?” 

“Awful. I didn’t say be more of a jackass; I said be less nice.” He frowned at the old, uneven bricks that were becoming more dirt than sidewalk. “Now I’m all dirty.”

“Says the boy who tied a knot in a cherry stem with his tongue in a family restaurant and then told me I could keep it.” 

Thinking back, Lance couldn’t remember if Keith grabbed the napkin with the stem in it or not. He’d probably left it there to be thrown away. It was trash, after all. “I don’t mind being lewd but I hate dust.” He lifted his hands to Keith. “You have to help me up since you put me down here.”

Obediently, Keith stood back up and locked his hands around Lance’s biceps. “Alright then, princess, up you go.” He hoisted him up easily. Keith’s hands lingered there as he smirked back at Lance before releasing one arm to reach up and brush against Lance’s temple. 

Lance blinked at Keith, who was looking down at his hand. They were almost the same height which gave Lance a perfect view of his eyes. Thick dark lashes around dark irises that had a hint of purple in their depths. He smelled like his shop, mixed with campfire. From this close, he could see the tattoos through the white of his shirt, their dim colors brightening as soon as the shirt ended. He followed the lines down, trying to make out the half cut-off pictures. When he dragged his eyes back up, Keith was staring at him strangely. 

Pulling his hand back, he held up a small twig he’d tugged from Lance’s hair. “Said you didn’t like to be dirty,” he said, too soft and too close. 

"Thanks." Lance ran his fingers over the ghost of Keith’s touch near his ear, trying to keep his heart and thoughts in control. "I appreciate it." 

“Sure.” Keith took a step back, the tense air between them dissipating with distance. His hands went back into his jeans and he licked his lips, trying to find something to look at. 

"This one." Lance pointed at Keith's bicep, his finger brushing over the ink before returning to his side. "I like it." 

“Huh?” Whatever Keith had been turning over in his head, Lance’s question did not compute. 

"The tattoo. On your arm." 

The tattoo was a lion’s head - more specifically, a lioness - wreathed in flames, with wide, dark eyes littered with stars. “Oh. It’s the first I ever did on myself and the first I had to do upside-down because of it. Thanks.”

"You can do that? Doesn't the pain make it hard to draw?" Lance forgot about the awkwardness and stepped closer so he could see the lion. 

“It’s not too bad. I’ve had worse.”

Lance hovered his finger over the tattoo. "Can I touch it?" 

Keith looked a little baffled by the question, but he rolled his sleeve up to expose the full picture. “Yeah, sure - doesn’t feel like anything but skin though, sorry to disappoint.” 

Tracing a finger over the ink, he frowned. "You're right. I don't know why I thought it'd feel like something. It just looks so real." Lance giggled at himself. "Sorry. You probably think I'm super weird."

Again, Keith looked at him with those crinkled eyes and lopsided little grin. “Nah. If you’re curious, you’re welcome to come watch me work any time. It’s pretty cool to see the whole thing start to finish.” 

"Yeah, I guess I've never actually seen it happen." Lance bumped Keith with his shoulder and nodded back to where they came from. "Maybe you could even tattoo me. Seems like everyone around here has at least one from you." 

“You’d probably be pretty surprised by my clientele.” Keith took the hint and started walking towards their shops since they did, in fact, have livings to make. “It’s repeat locals, sure, but mostly it’s bachelorettes, bike gangs, and wine moms in a midlife crisis.” He reached up to brush the low-hanging branches of one of the small trees caged in and providing shade to the walkway. “I do a lot - _a lot_ \- of butterflies and roses.” 

"The bike gangs are really into butterflies, huh? I guess you can't judge a book by its leather spikes." 

“Yep. Hairiest damn tramp-stamps this side of the Mississippi.” 

Lance laughed the same full body laugh he had that morning before Keith had asked him to lunch. He hadn't laughed this much in a long time. It was nice. 

They walked back to Keith's shop, since that was the side of the road they were on, laughing about all the horrible tattoos Keith'd had to draw. Lance's favorite was a divorced woman who got _men suck my balls_ across her chest. 

Each story had Lance in stitches and by the time they were back, Lance was regretting having to leave. Red lay sleeping in the window, tired from trying to get out. Keith announced his intention to bang on the window to wake her up before Lance gave him an earful for even thinking about it. When Keith turned to grin at him, it was clear he was reveling in getting the best of Lance yet again. 

After that, they stood awkwardly for a moment before Keith managed, “Hey, thanks for agreeing to come with. Was nice to have company, even from a crunchy surfer hippie.” 

"And eating with a southern softboy who disguises himself as hard wasn't so bad." 

He thought about staying and talking. The flower shop was visible from here, so he'd be able to see if any… An old lady peeked into his shop and checked her watch. Killjoy. 

"That's my cue. See ya." He waved once with a tight smile and turned. 

Lance jogged across the street, apologies already spilling from his lips. As he opened the door, he caught Keith staring. He waved one last time and followed the grandma inside. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update: omg big thanks to [Meg ](https://twitter.com/pm_patata)for the beautiful art of lance T_T look at him, loooooooook i'm crying he's so beautiful 
> 
> Big thanks to our beta Mintusti who not only manages to beta on time for you guys but also created a trello so we can be like, organized or something
> 
> Autumn: So I know we said that Peach Springs is a strange hybrid of the towns we grew up in and is largely fictionalized, but ngl, the pharmacy is real and it does, indeed, have the oldest continually-running soda fountain in the country and they're VERY proud of it. If you've never had a soda fountain egg cream before, you need to make that a priority in life. You'll never be the same. (Fun fact: egg creams have neither eggs nor cream).
> 
> Sail: so.... I'm pretty nervous about putting all these ADHD things in for lance that are pretty personal. like, well now you know what song I sing before I leave the house... i almost cried writing that because *shit* that's my daily life and there lance is doing it too and wow, be the change you want to see in the world I guess. i really hope you enjoyed this longer chapter, like I said on twitter this was either 6k or 13k there was no in between so...enjoy the 13k up date XD
> 
> If you like what we do, [think about supporting us ](https://linktr.ee/sailunchartedwaters)
> 
> tweet tweet mother fucker [Autumn Ignited](https://twitter.com/AutumnIgnited) and [SailUnchartedWaters](https://twitter.com/SailUnchartd)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A cute lance by [Mimi](https://twitter.com/bansheebender) appears in this chapter, enjoy him
> 
> If you like what we do [think about supporting us](https://linktr.ee/sailunchartedwaters) we'd really appreciate it
> 
> tweet tweet mf [Autumn Ignited](https://twitter.com/AutumnIgnited) and [SailUnchartedWaters](https://twitter.com/SailUnchartd)

~🌸~

Keith grunted and turned over, crinkling a bag of Cheetos under his body. He grabbed it and threw it off the couch. It fell to the floor with a bang. _Bang?_ Keith thought vaguely, _Why would the bag-_ More banging that turned into incessant pounding made him crack an eye open.

"Keith!" Lance's muffled voice yelled through the door. "Keith, are you in there?"

What was Lance doing in his shop? Keith sat up, running a hand through his hair and snagging on the tangles. “Fuck.” 

It took a whole second for Keith to realize that the banging was his door and that Lance was outside yelling for him. “Hold on,” he muttered, grabbing a beanie and shoving it on. Pants, pants, where were his pants? 

Lance had to be kicking at the door with the way it rattled. If he took any longer, that stupid boy might break it down. Hopping across the floor, he slipped on his jeans. A foot caught in one of the many holes and ripped. Well, whatever, they were already shredded to begin with. He buttoned them up and checked his fly before throwing the door open. He glared into the bright sun of late morning. 

“Finally! I’ve been knocking for hours!”

“Lance,” Keith said by way of greeting. “This is a store. The door is open. You can just, you know, _walk in._ ” He ignored the fact that he’d been asleep and half naked. Lance didn’t need to know that.

“Good morning to you, too.” Lance stood in the threshold holding two bikes: his own and a thicker-framed black one with flat handlebars. He grinned up at Keith. 

Keith did his best to keep his eyes on Lance’s face and not on the very short overalls that were cuffed and hiding his bare belly. He couldn’t read the crop top, since the words were cut off by the overalls, but they were definitely in glitter lettering. The amount of skin Lance showed off from day to day was scandalous for Peach Springs. 

After another few seconds of staring, he blinked up at Lance’s actual face, where his eyes should always be, thank you very much. “Can I...help you? With? Um?”

“I rented you a bike!” Lance stepped closer to his own so he could show off the other one. “I thought we could take an early lunch to go riding and find out if you really are a Mongoose guy or not.”

It took Keith a moment to absorb that. Lance...actively did this. Wanted to spend time with him. Rented a bike? Wanted to go...riding? Together?

His smile was slow as dawn as he looked from the bike up to Lance again. “That’s...yeah, sure, I’d love to. Thanks. Let me just put a sign up.”

Five minutes later, he had his work boots on and the store locked up. Red’s loud displeasure at once again being left behind seeped through the glass. 

Keith glanced over his shoulder at the black-and-white tantrum unfolding in his window. “One day you’ll have to take her in the basket instead of your flowers so she doesn’t feel so left out.” 

“I think she’d look cute in the flowers. Very instagramable.” Lance held the bike steady for Keith to take. “Ready?”

“Yeah, sure.” He swung a leg over and settled in, testing out the balance and the grip. It was strange to be on a regular bike after so long on motorcycles, but the old saying was there for a reason: riding a bike was, well, just like riding a bike. It came back to you. “Where’d you wanna go?”

"It's a surprise." Lance threw a leg over his own bike and settled one foot on the pedal. "Do you remember asking me what I did for fun?" 

“Yeah...surf and take flowers for rides just for the aesthetic.” Keith smirked at him. “Why?”

Lance rolled his eyes but he hadn’t lost his grin since Keith opened the door. “No, I mean here. I’m going to show you. Uh, but your bike is faster than mine, so take it easy.”

Standing on the pedal, Lance kicked off and took the lead. He turned his head to see Keith still standing there. “It’s still a race though,” he called over his shoulder. 

“What the hell, then!” Keith called, easily catching up to Lance in a few seconds. “You want me to go easy but it’s still a race? So basically, you want me to let you win.”

"It's only polite. I did rent the bike for you." The flowers in Lance’s basket whipped in the wind, sending petals behind him. "And you don't know where you're going, so you don't have a choice." He sat down and let go of the handlebars with a smirk. 

“Wow. I think you’re overestimating my generosity here.” One hand on his handlebars, Keith reached over and snatched a flower from Lance’s basket, enjoying the look of indignation he got for the stunt. “What if I just steal all your flowers and you have to follow me to get them back?” 

"Not cool." Lance grabbed the handlebars again and swerved away. He got low, sticking his butt in the air and pedaled as fast as his cruiser could go. 

Well, that wouldn’t do. 

Or rather - it would. But. Lance had now thrown Keith into the sort of predicament he’d never expected to find himself in: torn between his need to be competitive, the thrill of adrenaline and the joy of chasing a win, and his desire to hang back and stare at Lance’s ass in those sinful, barely-there overalls. And honestly, did everyone dress like that out West? Like clothes were optional and covering yourself was a courtesy you only halfway had to abide by? How did anyone get anything done?

Oh, he was falling behind. Shit. 

His bike was definitely faster, but Lance had the advantage of knowing his particularly well, which meant Keith had to either bank on the occasional downturn to make up some of the distance or pump his legs like his life depended on it. He’d said to go easy, but Lance was certainly making it a challenge, the asshole. 

The straightaway came to a fork a few hundred feet away and Keith suddenly knew where Lance was taking them. At least, he could make an educated guess, because one way led out of town and the other... 

He picked up speed, ignoring the, "Hey, that's cheating!" as he passed. 

This way - this way led to the river. 

The river was one of the things that had made Keith stay in this little town once Shiro had dragged him here, kicking, screaming, bloodied and penniless. The town had been stifling to him back then: same people, same roads, too quiet, too many places to hide. 

The river, though, was as wild and chaotic as Keith had often felt himself. It surged up and frothed over hidden boulders after every rainstorm, and even in the drier months, the sluggish sound of water churning had soothed him on more than one occasion. 

Shiro used to come with him on weekends, pack them a few sandwiches and a cooler full of beer. They’d swim their lunch out on their paddleboards just so they could eat in the middle of the water, letting the current tug at their feet. Afterward, they’d just lay back on the sun-warmed rocks and bake, lazy and half-drunk, with nowhere to be. This was where Keith liked to come when things got too tight, too dark, and if Lance thought he needed directions, he had another thing coming. 

Keith pressed on his breaks as he came up to the public picnic area that marked the official river access point. Checking behind him, Lance was glaring as he closed the distance. Dust and rocks flew as Lance slid sideways to a halt. 

"You cheated," he pouted. "Those weren't the rules. You were supposed to follow me. It was supposed to be a surprise." 

“Aw, don’t look like that,” Keith chuckled. He tucked his flower - some yellow something or other - behind Lance’s ear and grinned, as charming as he could. “I’m still surprised. Surprised you kept as close to me as you managed to, anyway.”

Lance kicked the grass, sending a few pebbles his way. "You can't give me my own flower and expect me to forgive you. Plus we're not there yet." He nodded ahead of them. "We can walk the rest of the way."

Dragging his bike along, Lance led the way. The river was lined with trees all choked with kudzu and thick ivy. Wildflowers grew in patches close to the rocky path, waving their little heads at the pair as they walked by. At a completely nondescript part of the path, Lance ducked into the wooded area and disappeared behind the greenery. 

Keith grumbled as Lance let a twig fly back to smack him, but pushed on. To his surprise, there was an overgrown, but still there, footpath of trampled moss, dirt, and ferns. Lance stubbornly pushed his bike through the rough terrain. The boughs of the trees blotted out the sun and made it feel like the whole world had been swallowed up in green.

"Over here!" Lance called excitedly over his shoulder. 

When Keith stepped out, he paused. Instead of the rocky and grassy bank by the public picnic area, fine sand sat in a little patch near an almost-pool. The cut of the land hadn't been completely worn away by the rushing water and had created a small beach. 

“Well look at you, Long Beach,” he drawled, crossing his arms over his chest and shaking his head in amusement. “You found the only beach in the whole tri-county area.” 

Lance practically glowed at that. "I don't have anything besides work, so I've been exploring. This is the best treasure I've found." He sat down and pulled off his shoes, stuffing his socks inside. "I come here when I'm homesick." As his foot came in contact with the ground, his face twisted into a disgusted frown. "The sand feels all wrong, but it's close enough." 

“Gonna tell you a secret.” Keith followed suit and crouched down to unlace his heavy boots, toeing them off and shoving his socks into them as well. He took his time with it, enjoying the way Lance fidgeted as he waited for the end of the sentence. When Keith stood, he turned so he could get the full reaction when he said, “I’ve never seen the ocean.” 

"Neither of them?" Lance gaped in egregious horror. His face crumpled, scrunched, then shifted into determination. "I'll take you. It's a travesty for someone to have never seen the ocean before." 

Keith laughed. “You’ve known me for barely a month. How do you know I’m not terrible company? Or is it that important to see the ocean that you’d risk it?” 

Lance just nodded enthusiastically. 

Keith didn’t know if that meant yes, it was important, or yes, he was terrible company, but he opted to go with the former. Motioning towards the water, Keith asked, “You ever been in it?”

“It’s too cold and it looks slimy.” Standing and brushing the dirt from his butt, Lance bent over to study the foliage around the sand. 

“It is cold this time of year,” Keith agreed, huffing out a laugh. He walked over to join Lance in peering at shrubbery, pretending this was a thing he was interested in doing and not at all because it let him get close enough to feel the sun-warmth from Lance’s long legs or smell the floral scent that clung to his hair. “What do you do when you come here, then?”

“This!” Lance found what he was looking for and held it up for Keith to see: a smooth circular stone, perfect for skipping. He bent down again to search for more. “I’ve been practicing. Which means I’ve been sinking a lot of rocks and they’re getting harder to find.”

That had Keith laughing. Lance was charming, and he knew it, too, but under the brassy, showy California side, he was also a real little kid at heart. It was…

Well, he couldn’t think too hard about it. Trouble - that’s what it was. 

“My brother and I come here a lot in the summer. Or we did before he got promoted,” Keith offered up, picking up a pebble that seemed disc-like and passing it to Lance. 

“Thanks. Big or little?” Lance moved to a different area, going a little deeper into the foliage. “Wait. Don’t tell me, let me guess.” He turned to study Keith and those blue eyes pierced deeper into his gut than he was willing to admit to. Keith did his best not to fidget. 

“You look like either the rebellious older brother who abandoned his sweet little brother to the wolves, or the little brother who needed to be pulled out of trouble too many times…” Lance must’ve seen something in Keith’s face because he turned back to his rock search. “Ah, so it’s the second one. Naughty.” 

“Something like that.” The next rock Keith picked up was too lumpy for skipping, but it felt good to rub his thumb over it - like the worry rocks they’d painted in that awful Bible camp one of his foster moms made him attend over the summer. “Doesn’t help that he’s a cop, either.” 

“Yikes, one of those ex-military cops?”

“Actually, no - just a real fuckin’ do-gooder from the start. It’s really gross. Actually, you met him - you know, when you called the cops on me.” 

“That guy? Hot and serious is your _brother?_ ” 

Keith snorted. “I’m gonna tell him you called him that.” 

“No!” Lance hopped on his toes as he clutched his rock collection. "He's hot, don't get me wrong, but I might die if you tell him." 

Keith was about to open his mouth to retort when something gave him pause. _Hot_ , Lance had said. Shiro was _hot_ . Not attractive or ripped or any sort of removed assessment - he’d described Shiro like he’d been looking. _Looking_ looking. 

He wasn’t sure if he was intrigued, relieved, or suddenly, unsettlingly jealous. 

“Hot, huh? You want me to set you up on a date?”

"Oh my God." Lance shoved the rocks into Keith's hands. "No, stop it." 

“Because he’s a cop?” Keith pushed, urging himself to shut up even as he did. “Or because he’s a dude?”

"I mean. I don't really like cops but that's not - Look, it's not that your brother isn't like, super good looking or anything he's just - not really my type." Lance sighed and spun around so that Keith couldn't see his face.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Keith said softly, and he hoped Lance understood what _it_ was. “He’s not my type either.” 

Lance scoffed, turning back around. "I'd hope not, he's your broth- _oh_." He froze for half a second, before he swallowed and smiled. "Good to know." Grabbing one of the rocks from Keith's cupped hands, Lance waved it in his face. “C’mon. It’s time for me to show off what I’ve been practicing.”

Keith gestured for Lance to lead. “So what have you got against cops? Did you come here to flee a life of crime?” He hoped it sounded light, but his heart was still beating. _Oh_ , Lance said, _good to know_ and that was it. Maddeningly, that was it. What the hell did that mean? 

“You bet I did,” Lance said, giggling as he placed his stones in a pile for easy grabbing. “I’m wanted in every state except this one. My name isn’t even Lance. Everything I’ve told you is a lie.” 

“Yeah?” Keith sat down for the show, stretching his legs out. “What’s your real name? Gotta be something lame and Midwestern.”

“Dwight Eisenhower.” Lance picked up the top stone and crouched into a squat. “The second, of course.” Pulling his arm behind him, he stopped, switched his leg stance and did it again. Whipping his arm forward, he didn’t let go of the rock. He did it again. And a third time; the rock still firmly in his grasp.

“Any day now, Babe Ruth.” 

“Can’t rush perfection, hun.” Lance winked at him before finally letting the rock fly. It zoomed through the air and fell with a splash into the river, sinking out of site. “Wait. I call a do over. That didn’t count. It was my warm up.”

Keith could _feel_ the heat climb from his chest to his neck to his cheeks and up into his hairline, all from a stupid wink. Keith could only pray to god that Lance wouldn’t look, would stay firmly focused on his rock-throwing. 

“Y-yeah,” he managed. “Didn’t count.”

Lance picked up another rock and this time he threw it right away. If Keith had blinked, he would’ve missed it. The rock didn’t even go far this time; it just plunked straight into the river. 

“I swear when you’re not here this works.”

“Want me to turn around? Let you get your groove back?” 

"No, it's fine. I got this." Lance went through three more rocks before one skipped exactly once. "Did you see?!" He spun to beam at Keith. 

He couldn’t have kept the grin from splitting his face if he’d tried. “Sure did. That’s more than I’ve ever done. You’ll hafta teach me sometime, Mr. Eisenhower.”

"The second. Don't forget my suffix." Lance held out a stone. "How about now? There's no time like the present after all." 

Keith shook his head. “I couldn’t mooch off your hard-won skipping stones.”

“Oh, you’re scared. I see. Guess you don’t get what’s in my basket. That’s only for stone skippers.” He tossed the stone up, catching it each time without looking.

Frowning, Keith tried to think back. Just...flowers? Why would he want…? “I could walk over that direction and pick a couple flowers myself, y’know.” 

Lance stepped in front of him, blocking his view of the bike. “You can pick all the flowers you want but you still won’t get what’s in my basket. You’ll just have to suffer.” He held out the stone.

With a sigh, Keith held his open palm out. “Alright then, Flower Boy, let’s get this over with.” 

“You’re acting like this isn’t fun.”

“You pegged me as edgy.” Keith shrugged and gave him a lopsided grin. “I’m just doin’ you the favor of acting the part.”

"Yeah sure, whatever." Lance dropped the rock into his hand. "Let's see what your _My Chemical Haystack_ ass can do." 

Keith didn’t have a chance to be embarrassed by the surprised laugh that bubbled up and devolved into an unbecoming snort before he caught Lance grinning at him. Whatever; If it made Lance smile that proud smile, he’d snort on cue. 

Fingering the rock, Keith eyed the river and tried to remember what sort of weird yoga pose Lance had done to get into rock-skipping position. Figuring that was probably just for show, he wound up and chucked the stone underhanded into the river. It didn’t skip, but at least it hit the surface at an angle that looked like it maybe-could-possibly-in-another-timeline have skipped, like, once, if he just changed it up a bit. 

"Hmm. That was close." Lance bent and grabbed another stone. He held out his free hand, palm up, to Keith. 

Keith glanced down at it and back up to Lance. “Just watchin’ me throw them isn’t exactly teaching, you know.” 

“No, give me your hand.”

Dimly, Keith realized he was probably taking too long to respond to that, but damned if that sentence didn’t make his stomach flip. Hesitantly, hovering his palm over Lance’s for just another second, he finally relented. “Why, Lance,” he tried, grateful that his voice didn’t sound half as rusty as he’d expected. “This is all so sudden.” 

“Shut up.” Lance flipped his hand over and slit the rock into it, adjusting his fingers. He bent close, making sure that he’d placed it right. “You gotta hold it like this. Feel that?”

“Yeah…” Keith sighed, swallowing. Fuck, what was _wrong_ with him? “Sure do.” 

“Good.” Lance let his hand drag to the back of Keith’s as he stepped around behind him. He pressed on Keith’s opposite shoulder. “You gotta bend. Angle yourself to the water. When you throw, go down and out like this.” Lance pulled Keith’s arm back and twisted his wrist in a mock throw. “Then let go.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You’re not even angled. Bend over.” Lance smacked his shoulder. “You’re not taking this seriously.”

Keith shook his head to bring himself back to the present. Let him throw this one dumb rock and get it right so that he could put some space between them and breathe. He did as Lance instructed and took up the strange, professional rock-throwing position. This time, when he pulled back and tossed the rock, it did, in fact, skip - twice. 

He blinked. “...I’ll be damned.” 

“That’s not fair. You can’t beat me like that when I’m the teacher.” 

“I imagine it has more to do with the rock,” Keith offered, but he was still feeling a little curl of pleasure at his success. “Maybe you just happened to give me the best of the lot.”

Lance pouted. “Fine. I’ve taught you all I know, now I challenge you to a competition. Who can get to the most skips with the rest of the rocks; loser treats winner to a shake.”

“Stella’s gonna be so mad that she has to start buying dairy-free ice cream in bulk.” Keith grinned. “You’re on.” 

“You’re going down, haystack.” Lance divided up the rocks. There was one extra so he threw it behind him. “Three tries. No cheating.”

“How the hell do you cheat at rock skipping?”

“If I tell you then you’ll know and then you can cheat.” Lance grabbed one and got into stance. “Go!”

Rolling his eyes, Keith obliged and sank down. His first rock sank straight into the water after hitting the surface with what he’d thought might have been a promising slap. He glanced over at Lance who got a whole skip out of his. His second rock, he managed one small skip, but that absolutely counted. Lance’s second sank with a loud plop.

Keith pulled back his arm, competitive spirit getting the best of him. Instead of throwing his rock, Lance turned and tickled him right as Keith let go.

Part of the sound he made as he stumbled and chucked his rock directly into the shallows was from the sheer surprise of being touched. It had taken a long time for Shiro to get him to a point where unsolicited hugs were no longer a threat, and it took everything within Keith to school his face back into a grin instead of a grimace. 

He twisted and gripped Lance’s arms to stop him, but the momentum had his feet scrabbling on the rocky sand. He had enough time to ensure that he was the one landing on his ass in the shallows before Lance crashed down on top of him, a heap of long, tangled limbs and surprised laughter. 

“I said no cheating,” Lance giggled between breaths.

“You cheated!” Keith gasped. “First!”

"I said _you_ couldn't cheat. I never said I couldn't." Lance went for his sides again, fingers ready. 

Keith was faster, and Lance was under dressed. He skated his fingers up Lance’s sides, tickling what he could reach of his ribs. “You wanna fight dirty? Huh?” 

"I won dirty and square," Lance said, snorting through his nose as Keith found an extra ticklish spot. He squirmed under his touch, wiggling and laughing. Pushing his fingers between the press of Keith's arms, he tried to fight back, but Keith was too strong. Lance was losing ground. 

“You _didn’t_ win, you fuckin’ criminal, we each had one single skip. I was watching.”

"And who's Stella going to believe? Me, the innocent new flower boy, or you?" 

For his sass, Lance earned himself a renewed vengeance’s worth of tickling which resulted in squealing and more wiggling. Lance pushed him away, trying to stand between giggles. 

He slipped. 

When he came crashing down again, Keith caught him, his arms wrapping around a thin waist as they both tumbled into the sand. 

In the next second, once the shock of falling had worn off, Keith registered exactly what he’d fallen _into_. He was on his back in a quarter inch of river water with a laughing, warm, sweet-smelling boy nestled between the bracket of his legs. They were so close that Lance was stealing Keith’s breath for himself every time he giggled. He lifted his head up enough to meet Lance’s eyes, brushing their noses together as he did. 

Sparkling eyes slowly widened as their positions dawned inside their depths. Keith watched as they tried to focus, flitting over his face but never landing. Then they flicked down, so sweetly down, to his lips. Lance's sigh was warm and wet and Keith could feel it electrifying him from the inside out. Those cornflower-bright eyes met his once more before fluttering closed, dark lashes resting against perfectly freckled cheeks. 

_Ah, shit,_ Keith thought to himself. This was exactly why he had to keep away from this stuff. This boy, with his dangerously warm skin and the waterline of his lips bright as strawberry, was Trouble, capital T. He needed to get up, get away, get some air - 

But his body had forgotten absolutely everything there was to know about moving.

“You okay?” he croaked. 

It took a moment before Lance's eyes opened again. This time the sparkle had dulled into confusion. "Yes?" 

Keith licked his lips. Breathed out a shudder. Licked them again. “Just, uh...thought maybe you’d wanna…”

Lance's sharp eyes followed the course of his tongue. Keith caught the pink tip of Lance’s trying to mimic him before it disappeared behind wet lips. 

“Get up?” Keith finished.

Agonizingly slow realization bloomed red across Lance’s face. Then, all at once, he was off him and sitting in the chilly water before Keith could blink. 

"Sorry. I didn't - I thought - that was stupid. Always so stupid. Never mind."

Keith could barely process the stilted words before Lance was standing, sopping shorts dripping wet lines down his legs. "You get your prize for skipping rocks. I'm gonna go get it." He watched goosebumps travel across Lance’s skin as he strode out of view, his bare feet crunching through the sand behind him. 

Had he...offended Lance? Keith frowned, watching him go, trying to puzzle out his wounded expression. 

He was on his feet and rushing to catch up before he even realized he’d stood. “Lance!” What he was going to say after that, he wasn't sure. All that mattered was getting his attention again. 

Lance paused his digging, a few loose stems falling to the dirt. His shoulders rose and fell once. "For you," he said as he turned with a soft smile and a brown paper bag in his hand. 

Thoroughly confused, Keith accepted the bag and peered inside. It was full of cookies, each one with a scattering of flower petals pressed into the top. He looked back up, even more helplessly muddled than before. “You made these? For me?” 

"I thought we'd need snacks. I couldn't think of anything vegan you might like so I made cookies. Even my brother likes these, but if you don't it's fine. I get it.”

“No, no!” Keith dug around in the bag and popped one into his mouth whole, brushing away stray crumbs with the back of his wrist and trying not to choke. As he chewed, his eyebrows raised. He did manage to swallow before saying, “These _are_ really good.”

Lance lit up with pride. 

That was when Keith learned the difference between Lance's fake smile and his real one. Lance was a good liar, but now that he'd seen both side by side, he'd never be duped again. There was no comparison. 

"I was really worried. I almost made normal food, but I couldn't bring myself to and then I figured if you hated them it was fine because I could eat them. But, if you hadn't liked the normal food then I couldn't eat it, so it was less painful if you didn't like the vegan ones since there was a backup plan, y'know?" Lance rambled, his words blending into each other. 

“Yeah,” Keith smiled - couldn’t help but smile, because Lance should always look like this: chatty, happy, ebullient. Reaching into the bag, he held one up to Lance’s lips. “Did you try them yourself or were you waiting for me to keel over first to make sure they were safe?” he teased. 

Lance looked between the cookie and Keith like it was a trap. "I haven't eaten any since I only made a few." He hesitated, then plucked the cookie from Keith and held it in his hand without eating it. 

Keith tilted his head, still trying to read Lance and his mercurial emotions. If he’d learned anything from his brother, though, it was that when someone didn’t want to talk about things directly, the best thing you could do was redirect them to something less raw. “Tell me about the flowers on them? I’m gonna guess you can eat ‘em.” 

"Pansies. These cookies were actually my first foray into vegan cooking. I had no idea you could eat flowers but Hunk showed me and they were actually pretty good. This is his recipe of course, all of the food I make pretty much is." Lance nibbled the cookie, biting a circle around the flower. 

“Yeah?” Keith smiled. “Why a flower shop but not a bakery?” 

"Neither in a perfect world. My friends were vegan and that's why I became vegan. Lita-uh Mariposa got sick so I came here to care for her plants. Neither thing is really something I'm passionate about." Lance bit the cookie in half, tearing the flower apart. "Mariposa’s shop is very aesthetic and nice. But, I'm not like you. I fell into this because I was the only one in my family who could do it."

“And what do you think I’m like?” Keith fingered another cookie, looking down at it. 

"Driven and creative." Lance thought for a moment, licking crumbs from his fingers. Coming to a decision, he looked him straight in the eye. "A person who worked hard to be where he is." 

“I think,” Keith said carefully, “that we’re just...two people tryin’ to figure stuff out. And that’s okay. Got a lot of time to do it. Helping your family out, that’s good enough for right now, don'cha think?” 

"Maybe, I don't know. Is it enough for you? This place? Your job?" 

“I think so. I guess I’m not sure, but it’s a hell of a lot more than I ever thought I’d have.” Keith chewed to stall, then decided to push a little further. “You really miss home, huh?”

"Yeah…" Lance leaned against his bike and for the first time Keith could see storm clouds fill his eyes. "No offense, but I don't fit in like you do. You couldn't even tell Stella I was vegan. _Vegan._ That's nothing. Back home, I'm the norm. My skin, my clothes, my personality, my que - uh-” He sighed, holding Keith’s gaze. “-queerness. Everything is normal there. Here? Here I'm Mariposa's weird grandson." 

“Hey.” Keith’s hand reached forward to grasp Lance’s wrist before he could think better of it. Lance’s pulse fluttered against his fingers. “Listen. I get it. For...for a lot of reasons - actually, all of the exact same reasons, I get it.” 

He paused to give Lance a meaningful look, trying hard not to throw up on his own boots. It was only the third or fourth time he’d ever admitted his own identity out loud. “Imagine the reaction I got when I painted the storefront black. I _hated_ it here. But folks tend not to let you stick to yourself no matter how hard you try. My brother dragged me to this cookout and that county fair and before I knew it, I was singing at the General Store every Thursday night. 

"First there's food inside pharmacies and now there's karaoke inside General stores. What even is this place?" 

Keith laughed, the tension in his stomach uncoiling as he did. It hadn’t even occurred to him that it might sound that way. In many ways, being around Lance was starting to make it clear just how much Keith himself had changed in the last several years. 

“Nah, live music and everything. If it’s all we’ve got to do, at least we gotta do it right.”

"So… it's a concert? Inside the grocery store? I'm not sure that's much better." 

“I guess...that’s kind of exactly what it is.” Keith shrugged. “Anyway, not the point. The point is - I still don’t really fit in for - for a lot of reasons, but you gotta trust me when I say most people, the ones worth their salt anyway, don’t give a shit about much except you being a decent person. But I sure fought that for a long-ass time.” 

"You're kinda the first friend I made here. I think." Lance stared down at Keith's hand around his wrist. "We _are_ friends, right?" 

“Yeah. Yeah definitely.” Mindful of what he was doing, Keith gave Lance’s wrist a last squeeze before letting it drop. “Mine too for what it’s worth.” 

"Good thing I wooed you with cookies and a trip to a fake beach." Lance smirked, but his eyes were shining like he was holding back tears. "Thanks for doing all the hard work before I got here. Y'know, finding the 'people worth their salt.'" 

“Heh.” Keith grinned and rubbed the back of his neck, ducking his head to look up at Lance through his bangs. “Wasn’t fun but. I’ll give you the rundown. Save you from the bullshit.” 

"You're good people, Keith." 

Keith smirked. “Well now I owe you a shake, so when we get it, we’ll gossip like real Southerners about everyone in town.” 

"Sounds like a plan." Lance pointed to Keith's bike. "I have to get that back by 2:00 or it costs double."

Keith laughed. “Good thing I’ll beat your ass twice over on the race back, then.” 

Lance picked up his shoes, studying the high top sneakers. He threw them in the basket. "Not if I get a head start." Grabbing the handle bars, he ran, dragging his bike through the hidden footpath. 

“You’re gonna need it,” Keith called to his back, snagging his shoes as well and racing after him through the underbrush. 

~🌸~

Keith paced the sidewalk at the corner of Main Street and Mill, glancing across the intersection to where the local bank’s digital ticker displayed the time. 8:02 pm. Lance should’ve been done by now. He’d said he had to go home to change, but who took two hours to put on clothes? Especially with how little Lance wore. He checked his phone for what felt like the millionth time in two minutes, but there were still no new messages. 

A familiar bell had Keith snapping out of his thoughts. The front wheel of Lance’s bike skidded to a halt a few inches away from his boot. Lance rang his bike bell again, probably just to be annoying.

“Yo,” Lance said, out of breath. That afternoon he’d been dressed in a long shirt that’d hidden his shorts from view. Which should have been illegal, by the way, especially with how insanely distracting his legs were. Now, he was wearing the same artfully faded shirt along with artfully ripped jeans and doodled-on Converse. Colorful pen-drawn stars were scattered all across the rubber. “Sorry I’m late.”

“Did you get dressed in molasses?” Keith complained. “Who needs two hours to change after work?”

Lance looked down at his outfit and then back up at Keith frowning. “It’s been two hours?”

“Yep.” Keith raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t think you owned anything that went past your knees.”

“Rude. I have outfits for every occasion.” Lance hopped off his bike and lowered the kickstand. “This outfit’s occasion is ‘not getting eaten by mosquitoes’. See?” Lance did a spin. “Protected from their nasty little mouths.”

“Your jeans are covered in holes.”

Lance stuck out his tongue. “If you don’t like it then I’ll go back and take two more hours to change.”

Keith chuckled and pointed over his shoulder with his thumb. “C’mon. Group’s gonna leave in ten minutes. Oh, but first.” He reached into his back pocket and handed Lance a small silver flask. “No one likes a history walk while sober.”

“So that’s what this is. Invite a boy to learn all about the town but really you’re trying to get him drunk. It’s me. I’m the boy. I’m saying you’re trying to get me drunk.”

“Pff.” Keith shook the flask mockingly. “With this little sippy cup’s worth? Thought you said you could drink, California. It’s just whiskey.” 

Lance took it and mocked, “It’s just whiskey.” He threw back a gulp and hissed. “Nasty whiskey. Did you make this yourself or something?”

“You could only be so lucky. Down the hatch, then we gotta hoof it another few blocks. Pretty sure there’s a bike rack where we’re going, too.”

“Shit.” Lance stopped dead in his tracks and turned to look behind them. “Fuck. I forgot my lock.” 

“It’ll be fine. No one’s gonna steal it, I swear.”

“Oh yeah, everyone is just going to pass on half a grand laying around without protection.” Lance didn’t look convinced at all. “This is why I need to change my song; I was in such a rush to get here that I didn’t even think about it.”

“Your what?”

“Bike lock, duh.” Lance chewed on his lip, glancing between his bike, Keith, and behind them.

Lance was following some thread in his head he hadn’t shared aloud again. Either way, he needed to be coaxed back to the present so he could relax about his perfectly-safe bike. “Hey, It’s going to be okay. C’mon, I’ll personally beat up anyone who tries to touch your bike _and_ I’ll buy you a new one.”

“But-”

“Nope. No arguing because I won’t have to since no one will steal it, but you don't believe me so-” Keith pressed Lance’s shoulders down. “If anyone takes it, I’ll replace it. How’s that?”

Lance sighed and Keith knew he’d won. “Fine.”

Keith stepped back, stuffing his hands into his hoodie pocket, and started off down the block. He picked his way around the uneven brick sidewalks of South Victoria Street. “You ever been on one of these before?” 

Lance followed, bike squeaking in time to their steps. “A ghost tour?” He shook his head. “I stayed in a haunted hotel by the bay once, though.”

“Oh yeah?” Keith glanced at him, interest piqued. “Did you see anything?” 

Lance shook his head again. “But there was a tiny door by my bed and we pushed the dresser in front of it because I was too scared. Oh! And the mirror in the bathroom was one of those two-way kinds so if I cupped my hands I could see the hallway behind it.”

“Sweet. I’d live in a place like that if I could.”

"No thanks." Lance kicked a rock, following it so he could kick it again. "I'd be too scared of people living in the walls." 

“That’s the fun of it.” Keith grinned at him. “Keep you on your toes. For the record, though, these things are not legit in the slightest. It’s just an excuse to walk around and learn a little about the town and mostly just drink and enjoy the fresh air. My brother eats this stuff up, but he’s in it for the longass history lessons.”

“If that’s the case, I don’t think your tiny flask is going to last us,” Lance said, handing it back. Keith pushed it right back into his hand.

“Nah. That one’s for you.” He pulled a second one out from his other back pocket, shaking it with a mischievous grin. “Never went to Boy Scouts, but doesn’t mean I’m not always prepared.”

Lance snorted. “Lush.” Even as he said it, he gulped his whiskey with a hiss.

It was only another two blocks to catch up to the main group. They waited behind a gaggle of blond women laughing with their mouths open. At this time of year, the crowd was mostly wine moms on a Groupon girls’ night. There was one especially nerdy guy lugging around cameras and several devices that were blinking that Keith had seen at almost every one of these things. 

The tour guide was a stout little woman of about sixty who, in her Colonial attire, looked something like a teapot. She clapped her hands as the group stepped closer and started to take roll. When she came to Keith, she called, “Keith Ko-gain?”

Keith gave a little sigh. Whatever, it wasn’t worth correcting her. “Here.”

“And his plus one, Lance F...Foon-tess?”

“Uh, it’s Fuentes,” Lance said at the same time that Keith sternly corrected her, “It’s pronounced _Fuentes._ ”

Lance smiled. He nudged Keith with a whispered, _thanks._

Keith smiled and nudged him back. 

“Excellent! That’s everyone. Now, I should warn you, you may experience some things you cannot explain on this trip. It may challenge the way you think of the world…”

“Oh brother,” Keith muttered, and took a sip from his own flask. “This lady’s the worst one yet. Kinda wish Shiro was here to hear this crap. Maybe I should record it in my pocket or something.”

“Can I ask you a question without you getting mad?” Lance asked, voice low and tickling Keith’s ear.

Keith shrugged. “Make no promises, but shoot.”

“Why did you invite me to this if you don't even like it?”

“Oh, I love this, don’t get me wrong.” Keith gave a subtle jerk of his head towards the tour guide and the enraptured, giggly, inebriated gaggle of blonde, white, middle-aged women around her. “It’s this bit I struggle through. But crumbling, old buildings and the supernatural? Sign me up, man. And I invited you because I like you.” He coughed and took another swig, glancing away quickly.

“Thanks, then.” Lance was half hiding behind his flask, bundled into himself and eyes on the ground. “For sharing it with me.”

“Anyti-” Keith started to say, before he was cut off by the tour guide crowing, “Follow me - into the unknown!”

He shrugged instead and motioned Lance forward. “After you.”

Lance raised his flask in a toast, downed some, and then followed the crowd.

The tour began by climbing up the small incline from Main Street to Hyperion, before turning right for a block or two until they stopped in front of an old Episcopal church with mint-green spires. 

Lance parked his bike at a bike rack outside the church as everyone filed in. It took another round of convincing before Lance would leave it. Keith could understand, he’d been like that before, but this place wasn’t like others. Peach Springs really was safe. They rushed up the steps so they wouldn’t miss the lecture. 

“This church,” their guide began as she held her arms up, “was built in the 1730s, the first church the city ever saw. The present structure, built in 1849, is the third to stand on this site. As is the way with churches, this one is home to a mysterious Lady in White. One evening, in 1858, a young parishioner arrived early for choir practice…”

Etcetera, etcetera. While the guide droned on, Keith gently hip checked Lance and nodded to where one of the women was fishing an entire bottle of wine from her purse.

“I should start carrying a purse,” he whispered. “Karen’s got it all figured out.”

Lance snickered into his hand. “Or one of those camel packs, you know, that hikers have? We could fill it up with your disgusting whiskey.”

“Disgusting?” Keith pouted. “Bring a boy 18 year old Jameson and get called disgusting. Next time I’ll bring you a wine cooler.”

“Good. I’ll never understand drinking something you can use to clean a carport.” Laughing, Lance turned as he drank the last of his flask. And ran right into an extremely tall man in a top hat and tailcoat. He scream-choked, backpedaling into Keith’s chest. 

Keith caught him by the arms as the man took off his hat and bowed to them both, slowly approaching the moms while the camera nerd held one of his beeping things forward. 

“Relax,” Keith chuckled. “They’ve got actors in period dress all over the tour.”

Lance couldn’t answer, coughing and slapping his chest he nodded. After a moment of strange looks and watery eyes, he finally stepped out of Keith’s hold. “I don’t like him,” he told Keith in all seriousness. 

Keith’s hands hung in the air for an extra beat before they went back in his hoodie pocket. “Noted. I’ll do my best to keep an eye out, and I won’t even tell the ghost of St. James Episcopal that he made a shitty first impression.” 

“Ghost?” Lance squeaked. “That was a ghost? I thought you said he was an actor…” He squinted and stood on his tiptoes, jumping to see over the crowd. “ _Keith_ , where did he go?”

“He is, he is, I’m kidding. Relax, Lance. He’s just playing the ghost. That’s why he didn’t talk. He’s supposed to be very gentlemanly and only talks to the women.” Keith cleared his throat a little and glanced up at the ceiling. “You can - ah - hold my hand if you need to.”

Cold fingers wrapped around his.

He looked down and lightly curled his hand to hold Lance’s a little tighter. 

“Better?” he asked, quiet and husky. 

"Yeah." Lance's other hand trapped Keith there. "Fuck, how are you so warm? I'm freezing." 

“Your California blood’s too thin.” Keith tried to keep his voice light as he faced Lance, shaking their hands free just so he could capture Lance’s between his own. Standing like that in the middle of an old church, it probably looked as if they were sharing some kind of communal prayer. Steeling himself, he leaned forward and warmed their hands with his breath. 

"I didn't realize being your friend meant I was also friends with a heater. If I'd known, I'd have signed up sooner." Lance winked. 

“Dunno if we’re friends anymore,” Keith countered in a grumpy mutter, even as he felt the color rise on his neck. “You insulted my whiskey.”

Lance rolled his eyes. “So I don’t like whiskey, sue me.” 

Keith gave him a look that he hoped conveyed the point to which he was now rethinking Lance’s sanity. 

“C’mon, don’t be like that.” Lance nudged him. “You know I love you.”

_What?_

Shit. What? Who just - just _said_ things like that?

Keith swallowed. Hard. “Yeah sure. Let’s go. The group’s heading out.” 

“Oh my God, you’re blushing.” It took some doing for Lance to leave his grip. As soon as the fingers wiggled away, Keith regretted letting them go. Lance pressed a finger into the corner of his mouth. “For wanting to leave, you sure aren't moving.”

Keith smacked his hand away and turned on his heel. “Freeze then,” he grumbled and began walking back towards the front door. 

Lance grabbed his wrist, halting his escape. It wasn’t forceful but it still jolted through Keith, sharp and hot in his belly. 

“Hey. Sorry. I was trying to lighten the mood after - well, look, I just love all my friends okay? It doesn’t mean anything. I also love garlic knots and coffee.” Lance tugged on his wrist, trying to make him turn around.

Keith sighed and gave him a small smile. “I know. It’s fine.” To prove his sincerity, Keith turned his wrist and slid their hands together again. That earned him a smile that was too bright to look at directly, so he focused on a spot behind Lance.

“I bet you know more about these things then that lady does. The actually interesting stuff. I’d rather you tell me.”

Keith raised an eyebrow at that, but tugged Lance towards the door, sticking their interlocked hands in his own hoodie pocket to warm them. “Well, you gotta define ‘interesting.’ What do you wanna know about?”

Lance’s fingers wiggled in his pocket, squeezing his hand. It took a moment for Keith to realize that Lance was scratching the inside of his hoodie with his nails. It was such a small movement that at first he wasn’t even sure it was happening. It was rhythmic and gentle. Lance didn’t even look like he knew he was doing it; instead he was just chatting away about how if Shiro was so into these Keith must have the whole thing memorized. It was hard to care about what Shiro did or didn’t do when all he wanted to do was enjoy the gentle pressure of Lance’s hands. 

“Have you ever seen one?” Lance asked at the end of his explanation. 

“One what?”

“A ghost?” Lance frowned like Keith’s question was stupid. “Did I talk too fast again?”

“Heh.” He couldn’t stop the smile that he hoped wasn’t too obviously charmed. “No, you just didn’t say it out loud again. But don’t worry, I’ll pick it up eventually. And no - not yet, anyway. But it never hurts to keep trying. Have you?”

Lance shook his head. “Not yet.”

They’d stopped in front of an old abandoned house that was in contention as to whether or not it’d stay on the tour or get demolished any day. The multi-storied house was an old favorite of Keith’s with its red front door and wrap around porch. Sometimes the town would decorate it for Halloween and it’d become a temporary haunted house. He never missed it.

“This is my favorite.” Keith pulled Lance up short and nodded towards the house. “Paxton Manor, but people here mostly call it The Red House. No one can agree on where the name came from: the door, or the crazy number of deaths inside.”

“Deaths?” Lance blinked at him and his hand stopped clawing his hoodie to squeeze Keith’s in fear. “Like recent, _real_ deaths?”

Keith squeezed back before he could even register he’d done it. “Uh, best I can remember, the most recent one was some kid in the 90s who committed suicide. No one’s lived there since.” 

“Do we have to go in?” Lance pressed closer, half-hiding behind Keith.

“Not if you don’t want to.” He glanced up at the tall tower and hummed thoughtfully. “Wonder what it’s like to live there. Or not live there, I guess. I’d totally buy the place and fix it up if I had the cash.”

“You’re so weird.” Lance tugged him away from the group. “C’mon, I really don’t like the vibes of this place, it's freaking me out.”

“Hang on…” Keith peered harder. He couldn’t be sure, obviously, but for a second, it had really looked… “Thought I saw something in that top window. See up there? In the tower? Watch, something keeps moving.”

“Stop it! La, la, la, I’m not listening” Lance pulled his hand away to cover his ears. “You can’t scare me anymore, you, you _marshmallow_ in a leather jacket!”

“Marshmallow…?” Keith asked bemusedly, even as he watched the window. Could have sworn...ah well. He looked back down at Lance. “Take it you don’t want to go inside this one.”

Lance shook his head vehemently. “No way.” Abandoning his ears, Lance tried to tug Keith away. “I know you like, live for this shit for some reason but I _really_ have a bad feeling. Please?” 

Besides feeling sort of like a jerk for making Lance scared, Keith couldn’t deny that he was enjoying being the one Lance was clinging to for protection. He’d probably be just like this during scary movies, too. They definitely would need to watch a couple. 

“Alright, alright,” he placated. “No Red House. C’mon, we’ll tell the group we’ll meet them at the main road. Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Sighing, Lance relaxed against him, resting his head on his shoulder and fingers digging into the soft fabric of his hoodie. “Thanks, Keith.”

Sensing it would be welcome, Keith slung an arm around his shoulder. “No problem. I didn’t mean to scare you. Next time you can pick what we do, how ‘bout that?”

“That sounds nice. Next time we can do something with less ghosts and more sun. Like the opposite of this. ” Lance had him in an almost side hug as he tried to push closer. “If you want to do this again you’re going to have to do baby steps. Maybe a puppet show or an informative documentary.”

“...Don’t really see myself as a puppet show kinda guy.”

Lance had him in a full hug now, his long arms wrapped securely around his waist. Keith wasn’t sure when he’d done it. “I believe in you. If my niece and nephew can, then a professional artist should have no trouble.”

“You uh,” Keith tried not to laugh. “You want me to just go ahead and carry you?”

Lance lit up like Keith had offered him the whole world. “I’d pay you for a piggyback ride right about now. It’s way past my bedtime and my feet are killing me.” Lance leaned back to look at Keith. “Don’t make jokes you’re not ready to follow through on.”

He’d literally never been this bold in his entire life, and Keith had spent two years on the street. “Hop up,” he offered, and crouched down. 

“For real?”

“Do I look like I’m kidding?”

Lance wrapped his arms around Keith’s neck and hopped, gripping his hips with his legs. Easily, Keith hefted him up once or twice to adjust his balance. “Lock your ankles around me, stilts, or your legs are gonna drag.” 

“I like it better when you call me flower boy,” Lance grumbled in his ear. Still, he did as he was told and locked his feet. 

Keith tried to glance back at him, but he had to settle for sort of looking over his shoulder in Lance’s general direction and smirking. “You like that, huh?”

“Shut up.” Lance buried his icy nose into Keith’s neck.

“Augh,” Keith complained. “Get that outta there or I’ll drop you.”

“No you’re warm, this is your punishment.” Lance shifted so that his eyes were buried into the crook of Keith’s neck. At least his frozen nose wasn’t as painfully cold from this angle. 

He got a rough bounce for that sort of sass, but otherwise, Keith didn’t dislodge him. He couldn’t; it felt too good. It made his heart thud hard against his ribs, pulse pounding in his wrists and temples. He’d never been this close to anyone - well, besides Shiro, and certainly not like this. He’d never _wanted_ to be close before. It was no secret to himself that he only found boys attractive, but that attraction never went farther than the kind of objective appreciation of looking at artwork. He’d never _felt_ anything to go along with it, and that alone was more terrifying than all the haunted houses in Peach Springs combined. 

Keith didn’t know what to do with this new information. 

So he chose not to deal with it, as usual, and squashed all of the confusion firmly down into his gut to handle later. He opted to just enjoy the puffs of Lance’s breath on his neck and the weight of him in his arms. 

They’d made it to the main road where the group would eventually end up. It was pretty normal for him not to fill the silence but as soon as he stepped out onto the sidewalk he realized how strange it was for Lance _not_ to. Usually his friend couldn’t go three seconds without blurting out whatever he was thinking. Well, except when he got into those weird moods. “Hey.” Keith bounced his head with his shoulder.

Lance grumbled and turned to rest his chin on his shoulder. They were almost cheek to cheek. “Is it over? Did I miss it?”

Had he been asleep? That was...really fuckin’ cute. Keith couldn’t keep the smile out of his voice. “Yup. You missed it. The ghosts came, we had a party without you.”

"Guess you really will have to tell me all about it." He yawned and squeezed Keith in a full body hug, legs and all. "Sorry I missed it." His breath puffed against Keith's cheek as he sighed. 

“You know, when I asked you to come, I didn’t expect to be going back with a baby koala.”

“Oh?” A chuckle vibrated Keith’s back. “I didn’t know you were inviting me back to your place after this. I would’ve changed my underwear.”

Heat surged through Keith’s body so quickly that it felt more like a shock of ice down his spine than anything else. “Jesus Christ. You’re impossible,” he muttered, and prayed hard that it sounded teasing instead of like the lament it really was. 

Lance fisted his sweatshirt for an impossibly long moment as Keith waited for some kind of reply. Instead, he tapped his shoulder. “You can put me down.”

“...Didn’t say I wanted to.”

Swinging his legs, Lance whined, “This is kidnapping. You can’t keep me here; I’ll call the cops.”

Keith snorted. “You mean my brother?”

Lance sagged, dropping his full weight on Keith. “Okay, you have a point. Then where are you taking me, oh kidnapper mine?”

Keith considered that. “Well, there’s two more stops on the tour, but if you’re not feeling it, we can see if Blue Dog is still open.”

“You say these things like I know what they mean.” Lance was nuzzling back into his neck, pushing his ponytail out of the way. When he spoke again it was against his nape, “What is a blue dog?”

Keith sucked in a breath between his teeth at those soft lips on his sensitive skin. “Y’know,” he said, a little strained, “the used record store? They’ve got couches and bean bags in the back to listen to stuff to see if you like it enough to buy it. It’s a good place to just hang out. Show me what kind of music you like.They say the best way to get to know someone is through the music they listen to and the way they treat their dogs.”

“I don’t have a dog, ” Lance said as if that was the point. He tugged on Keith’s ponytail like he was ringing a bell. “You like this though, that’s why we’re here.”

“Ow,” Keith complained, even though it didn't hurt. “Well, sure, but I’ve done it and it’s not your thing. We’re not here for the tour. I just...wanted to hang out. So. You know. Doesn’t matter where.”

“Baby,” Lance chastised and tugged his hair again. 

His heart gave an alarming sort of lurch at that. “Huh?” 

Tisking, Lance demonstrated what he meant, ringing his hair like a bell again. “See? I’m not even hurting you. Such a baby.”

“Well stop trying!”

Lance pouted, letting his arms hang out in front of them. “Okay, fine. But none of that changes the fact that my bike is way back there. What are you going to do? Carry me the whole way?”

“Good thing I work out.”

“Wait. You’re really going to carry me the whole way?” Lance squirmed. “You know I have legs.”

_Do I ever_ , Keith thought darkly. 

Lance froze. His arms slowly pulled back until his fingers gripped Keith’s shoulders and he leaned forward. Kicking out his legs, he wiggled his feet. “Does that mean you like them?”

Oh fuck. He’d said it out loud.

“Um,” he tried, but he didn’t have the heart to lie to Lance to save face. “You’ve got nice legs, and I think you know it, too.”

“Does me knowing make it better or worse?” 

Keith chuckled. “I guess it depends on who you ask. But it definitely makes you trouble.” 

Lance just snorted, his legs locking around Keith again.

Footsteps crunching behind them alerted Keith to the group’s return. Keith told the teapot lady that they would be bowing out early. At her strange look, Keith added that Lance sprained an ankle and, unfortunately, Lance played along by overacting the whole thing. Gritting back a smile, he thanked her very much for the enlightening experience and reassured her they would do it again. That seemed to mollify her somewhat.

Then, as promised, he started carrying Lance down the side streets and back towards Main.

Now and then Lance would play with his hair, twirling it around a finger or tugging on a strand. It was never painful and Keith wasn’t even sure Lance knew he was doing it, since he was too busy talking. He didn’t speak loudly. Instead, it was a constraint stream of murmuring and whispers in his ear. Now and then it was interrupted by Lance pointing to something, only to lose his train of thought and rely on Keith to put him back on track. 

With no topic on hand, Lance mostly talked about a guy named Hunk. He’d start on a story, something Hunk did or said, and then it would jump to another time and place. The threads were usually loose, like both stories involving fish or a girl with blonde hair or an inside joke. Still, once he figured out where Lance was going, it was easy to follow. 

“You should have him come visit,” Keith said when there was a lull. 

“Hunk? Here?” Lance laughed and tugged on Keith's hair sweetly. “I’d pay to see that. He’d probably cry at the lack of a bougie farmers’ market.”

And then, because he was a dumbass, Keith tried, “Were you together before…?”

“Yeah all the time.” Lance’s voice grew wistful. He rested on his cheek as he blinked at Keith from his peripheral. “We were pretty inseparable. I miss him.” 

“Oh, I meant -“ Keith bit his tongue, but pressed on. “I meant, y’know, _together_ -together.”

Lance scoffed then covered Keith’s ear. “Sorry that was loud.” He pet his ear a few times before settling back down. “I love Hunk, don’t get me wrong, dude is great for cuddling, but no. Why? You jealous?” 

“Yeah, he sounds like a nice guy, what if I wanted to date him and he was already taken?”

Lance giggled. “You’d have to get in line. Actually it's a really long line, you should just give up. There’s lots of other people out there who are good too. I mean not as good as Hunk, we can’t all be Hunk.” The Blue Dog glowed dimly ahead of them; soon he’d have to put Lance down and there would be no one playing with his hair or hugging him at random intervals. “I didn’t realize you were shopping around.”

“I’ve had a couple drunk old women propose to me.” Keith set Lance down gently in front of the store, feeling light and strangely cold without his weight. “One of them was Kay.”

“And here I thought Kay liked me. Guess I’m at the end of everyone’s list.” Lance shook out his legs, hopping from foot to foot.

Keith shook his head with a smile and opened the door for Lance. “Nah. Have her over for tea again and she won’t even remember I exist. You two have much more in common. C’mon, we’ve got about an hour.”

“You better watch your back, softboy, or I’ll steal all the ladies from your life.”

The interior was nothing special - just wooden rows of CDs, Vinyl records, and even a tower of cassette tapes, all organized by genre and then the alphabet. It smelled like dust and forgotten memories. 

There were a few curling band posters pasted here and there scattered between advertisements for concerts long past. Painted on the brick above the register was a blue bloodhound leaning against the wall wearing sunglasses. Under the dog was the owner, who’s beard went past his belt. He didn't acknowledge them. Instead, he flipped through the records and placed them in piles as he hummed something only he could hear. Besides that, the store was quiet. 

“Alright. Grab a couple things and then head to the back. Something that doesn’t suck.”

“None of my music sucks. I have excellent taste.” Lance scanned the aisles “It’s more like don’t get too emo on me.”

Well that was just rude and presumptuous. On principle, Keith avoided anything that Lance might dub “emo,” and opted for some of the more obscure stuff he liked - CDs that he already owned and just left at the store so he’d have them to listen to when he needed a break from work. When he had a decent selection of cracked plastic cases, he met Lance in the bricked-off cubicle that the owner liked to call the “sample station.”

“Alright.” Keith stacked his CD’s next to the ancient, enormous stereo on the right and flopped back into a red papasan. “You first. What am I listening to?”

Lance held up Sublime. “Some classics.”

Keith took it and traded Lance an album. “Alrighty. You get The Civil Wars.”

“I was expecting Dragon Force or My Chemical Romance or I don’t know, sad and hard. What is this?”

“What the hell is Dragon Force?” Keith shook his head. “No, this is like...I dunno, it’s the kind of stuff I play on Thursdays. Americana stuff. Pretty Southern to a boy like you. I thought it’d be a good intro.”

"Hmm." Lance looked dubious. "I'll try but I'm really picky. Maybe this wasn't a good idea." 

Keith hesitated. Honestly, he’d always had difficulty with sharing these little shards of himself. It had taken Shiro a year just to get him to admit to his favorite pizza topping. 

He’d grown up unused to owning things, so stuff like art or music or movies - stuff that no one could ever take away - they were private. Secret little pieces of his soul that felt like giving away bits of himself to be judged. He always hated this. 

It had been his biggest hurdle when opening his shop. The money, the business license, the zoning, and mortgage were easy, but, the idea that he had to hang his art up for people to judge was nauseating. Because really, that’s what they were doing, right? ‘Buying’ his art meant they liked it enough to put on their skin. Music was like that, too. To offer it up and have it be deemed ‘bad’ stung.

But. He took a quick breath. They’d gone over this, Shiro and him, and it was fine. _People can like or dislike things,_ he reminded himself firmly. _If Lance doesn’t like your taste in music, it doesn’t mean he dislikes you. Open the door a crack._

He smiled. “Hey, no worries. It’s not for everybody. I’m just interested in learning about you, not expanding my CD collection or anything.”

"Oh, so. This isn't about making me like it…" Lance flipped the case over to scan the back. "I think I get it." He smiled up at Keith, his sneaker slipping across the floor and bumping into his boot. 

“I can’t _make_ you like anything.” Keith bumped him back. “Just...maybe it’s stupid, but I feel like music tells you a lot about someone." At Lance’s nod, he sighed. "Anyway. Which track? Any in particular?”

"I mean all of it reminds me of home, but I guess track six? What about me?" 

“Seven.”

After about five different tracks across five different albums, Keith concluded that Lance’s music was a lot like Lance. It was difficult to pinpoint where the feeling came from, but it was bright, summery, sometimes erratic, always with a beat, usually laced with Spanish. It matched his energy, his way of talking, and his smile. He liked it, and he told Lance so. Not quite in those same words. What he actually said was, “Yeah, this kinda...sounds like California? If that makes sense? I mean, I dunno, I’ve never been, but it’s colorful. Energetic. Like you.” 

Lance had sunk almost all the way down in his chair with one foot propped up on Keith's lap. "Why'd ya stop? I was enjoying hearing about myself." 

Keith rolled his eyes. “Can music sound egotistical?”

"Wow." Lance kicked him. "I guess if music can sound introspective then it can sound egotistical." 

Huh. Keith blinked at him. “Z’that what you got out of what I gave you?”

"Yeah, I diagnose you with a severe case of hopeless romanticism." 

He felt the color bloom in itchy patches across his neck and chest then rise to his cheeks. _That_ was what he took away from it all? Well...okay, maybe the one about giving the person you love everything they deserve, or how the person you liked might never look your way because the whole town was in love with them...then there was the one about always being there for the person you…

Well, shit. 

Keith coughed. “I guess, if you read it that way. Could also be-”

"Cute."

He frowned in indignation. “Now wait a minute, how come-”

Again, he was cut off, but this time, it was from the power going out, plunging them into very sudden and startling darkness. It only took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to the light coming from the storefront windows, but it still wasn’t much to go by. 

Lance yelped and scrambled over, headphones clacking as they fell. He kneed Keith in his panic as he climbed onto his lap. 

“Whoa, hey, Jesus, calm down!” Keith had to bat away his hands twice to prevent himself from getting a black eye, but he didn’t push Lance off. As best he could with his gangly lap warmer, he tried to look around for the store owner. As he did, he shivered. It was _cold_ in their corner. Had it always been that cold?

“Sit up a minute, will you? I need to see.”

"No, this is part of it isn't it? You're trying to scare me." Lance shook his head and grazed Keith's chin. "Ow."

“Of course not!” Keith pushed Lance back by the forehead to try and get a look at the front counter. The store owner was already making his way over to them, shaking an old flashlight and banging the side of it to get it to work. 

“You boys alright back here? Damn generator’s gone again.” He managed to get the light on and roved the beam over them both. He chuckled at the sight. “Scaredja good, did it, son?”

"Maybe." Lance wiggled off to thunk on the floor. "Sorry." 

“Well, I'm going to have to cut your visit short. Gotta go to the basement to figure this one out. You boys might as well come back tomorrow when you can…”

Keith didn’t really hear the rest of what the guy said. Above them, two of the ceiling lights flashed and shattered - first one, then another, then another. They kept going, moving forward in succession, closer and closer to where they were sitting. Lance grabbed Keith's shin in a death grip. 

"Fucking shit." 

" _Keith_ ," Lance squeaked. 

As the bulb directly above them began to light up, Keith was already dragging Lance by the wrist and hauling ass. Let whatshisname figure out his ghost electricity or whatever the fuck, Keith was busy trying to push his heart back down his throat. 

He didn’t really register where he’d taken them until they were two or three blocks away. The blood rushing in his ears died down. He panted, looking at Lance wide-eyed.

“I swear,” he panted, “to God I didn’t do that. Did you - I mean, that was just - just electrical shit. Had to be. Right?”

"I don't know Keith! You're the one that took me on a ghost walk and then to a haunted record store where the music ghosts tried to kill us!" His hand was shaking in Keith's grip. 

“The record store’s not haunted!” Keith protested hotly. “I’d know if the record store was haunted! I know everything that’s haunted here!”

"Did you ever think maybe ghosts can move around? What if that weird hat guy latched onto my back and followed us?!" Lance turned in a panic to look behind him, taking Keith's hand with him. 

“What hat guy?” Keith demanded. “Did you see som - fucking hell, Lance, stop tugging me! - something?”

Lance dropped his hand, well, more like threw it back at him really. He hugged himself and tucked down into his shoulders. "I didn't like it." 

That sobered Keith up enough that he tugged Lance into a hug without thinking about it. He just knew he couldn’t stand to let him look that miserable. “Hey,” he said, soft and soothing, “Hey it’s okay. These buildings are from like...the 17, 1800’s. They’re bound to have funky wiring. Okay? Nothing weird. I’m sorry. We won’t do anything like this again. I’m sorry.”

"No," Lance said, melting into him. "I just overreacted. I was scared, then you got scared, and that made me more scared. I feel stupid now." 

Keith laughed, thin and nervous. “Yeah that, uh. That got me pretty good, not gonna lie.” He pulled away just enough to catch Lance’s eyes with a shaky smile. “So I’m gonna say that’s a no to visiting the Red House at Halloween when they turn it into a walk-through haunted house?”

He'd never seen Lance shake his head so hard. "Nope, nu-uh. No thanks." Steadying himself, Lance returned Keith's thin smile. "How about that puppet show first? Definitely going to need to level up before we do this again." 

“Sure.” Keith let out his breath and his smile evened out before something occurred to him. “If you knew this wasn’t your thing, why didn’t you say something when I invited you?”

"No reason. Don't think about it. It's fine." 

“No.” 

Keith held him at arm’s length and fixed him with a stern look. “That’s not gonna fly. You have to tell me when stuff makes you uncomfortable. I don’t want to drag you along on something that makes you miserable again. Okay?”

Lance refused to meet his eyes, staring at the ground between them. "It's not that. It's just." He folded his arms and sighed. "It was the first time anyone had asked me to do anything. I've been really looking forward to this. It wasn't about _what_ we were doing, just that- God, I have no idea how you're not sick of me." 

“What?” Keith frowned. That was...a lot of different threads to follow, but the most important of them was, “No, I’m not sick of you. I’m...well, besides feeling really bad about all this, I actually had a lot of fun. I haven’t hung out with anyone except my brother in...geez, I don’t even remember how long. You’re good company.” He paused. “When you’re not mad at me or scared of me or throwing mail in my face.”

"Yeah?" 

“Yep.”

Lance took a deep breath and a long exhale. "I like you too, Keith. You're good company." 

“Thanks.” Keith had to swallow down whatever strange choking sensation that brought up, with all the painful sweetness of swallowing a gumball whole. “We should, ah. Probably head back. It’s getting kinda late.”

"Yeah probably - my bike!" Lance's head whipped up and he tugged on Keith's hand. "It’s still back where we started. What am I going to do if someone stole it? Fuck." 

“Your bike is fine. I’d bet my store. _And_ Red.”

Lance wouldn't leave it alone and Keith had to walk him back all six or seven blocks back to St. James Episcopal where the tour had started. It was difficult to keep up with those long legs when they were on a mission. As they rounded back to the starting point, Lance jogged away. 

By the time Keith caught up, Lance was hugging his bike. He walked over to stand next to the blatant display of affection, crossing his arms.

“Well. Glad to see you reunited, just like I said you would be.” 

"I know, it's just not that easy to turn off the panic. Sorry for freaking out." Lance ran his hand over the bike frame like he was petting it. 

“Should I leave you two alone?” 

Lance stuck out his tongue. “Shut up.” There was no malice behind his words. Actually it sounded a bit relieved and light. _Teasing_. Lance sat sideways on the seat and Keith agreed with what Lance’d said about it. Him and his bike were like jelly and jelly, they matched in a strangely sweet way. 

“I have a confession,” Lance said, interrupting his thoughts.

Keith smirked. “Hey, it takes all kinds. If you and your bike want to be together, I won’t stand in your way.”

“Fuck you.” Lance kicked at him. “I’m trying to tell you something.”

“Alright, alright.” Laughing, Keith held up his hands in surrender. “I’m listening.” 

“I’m…” He ran his palms over his thighs as he stared at them. “I’m not good at saying goodbye. If you don’t make me go home I’ll just bother you forever. I never shut up; I’ll keep talking to you until the sun rises. My friends are used to it, but like, I don’t want you to stay when you gotta go. So, don’t feel bad about telling me to leave, it actually helps.” 

“That’s gonna be a lot harder than you think.” 

Lance scoffed, biting his lip. He pushed Keith without any force. “Don’t lie to me. You don’t have to spare my feelings. I’m not going to be upset if you tell me to leave, I swear.”

Keith put his hands in his hoodie pocket, gripping the fabric where Lance couldn’t see. _Shut UP,_ he warned himself. _JESUS, shut UP!_ He ignored his own warning. “I don’t really wanna say goodbye.”

Lance squinted at him before his face softened at whatever he’d found. “Yeah. Me either.”

Sighing, Keith checked his phone. “Should get you home, though. It is pretty late, and you open at stupid o’clock.” 

“Oh...yeah.” Lance’s hands stilled and his nails dug into his skin. “Of course.”

“So, uh…” Keith shifted his weight. “See you tomorrow?”

“Probably.” 

“We’ll do it again soon.” Keith paused. “Not...this, specifically, since, you know. But uh. Yeah. I mean it. You pick, and just give me a day okay?” 

“Sure.”

“Alright. I’m gonna just...okay. Night, Lance.”

“G’night, Keith.” And that was it. Lance turned his back to him, facing his bike.

Keith only made it a few steps before he lost the fight inside himself. He couldn’t help turning back to Lance like magnetic North. Lucky for him Lance was still there, unmoving. “Hey - Lance?”

He turned slow. His brown hair shimmered in the moonlight and his skin reflected blue under the streetlamps. “Yeah?” 

Keith’s face burned hot and his throat felt tight, but still the words spilled over anyway. Keith was entirely helpless against it. “You said you weren’t first on anyone’s list. That’s...not true. Not anymore.”

Lance stiffened, mouth hanging open. Then, to Keith's relief, he smiled. That big open one that made the world feel a little pinker. "Hey, Keith?" 

Keith let his breath out, and it was like the word was punched out of him. “Y-yeah?”

"Same." 

Keith didn't have a chance to do anything before Lance was on his bike and riding away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Mimi](https://twitter.com/bansheebender) did a fantastic job and i've been dying to show off this lance for a long time
> 
> Autumn: I’ll tell you a story. That river they go to? There’s a bridge over it that you can see from downtown. My whackadoo HS art teacher made us spend an entire year recreating that bridge in every damn media known to man. I drew it, scratched it out of that black paper that turns colors underneath, and made it from macaroni. Fucking hate that bridge. That doesn’t make the river any less beautiful, but I was still a little salty writing about it. 
> 
> We’re thinking of you guys and we love you. Stay safe and well.
> 
> Sail: are you cool? did you catch the easter egg? that's for you, our long time reader <3 Stay safe out there and I hope this brought a little bit of brightness to your day
> 
> If you like what we do [think about supporting us](https://linktr.ee/sailunchartedwaters) we'd really appreciate it
> 
> wip woop bip boop [Autumn Ignited](https://twitter.com/AutumnIgnited) and [SailUnchartedWaters](https://twitter.com/SailUnchartd)
> 
> We also have an insta now? That's a thing sail's shitty art will go there and other stuff [Autumn & Sail](https://www.instagram.com/autumn_and_sail/)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: racism & homophobia *points at tags*  
> starts right after lance is trying to find his Abuelita to tell her what happened marked with [[*]]
> 
> and a meltdown  
> at the end starts after lance is crying about it being four days marked with [[*]]
> 
> follow us on twitter [Autumn Ignited](https://twitter.com/AutumnIgnited) and [SailUnchartedWaters](https://twitter.com/SailUnchartd) for more klance
> 
> Early access to chapters [are here](https://linktr.ee/sailunchartedwaters)

~🌸~

“Now, I admit I don’t know much about this whole aquaponics business,” Kay said, all innocent eyes. “But I imagine the plants don’t grow any better if you stare at them in contemplative silence. Or should I also be glaring at this moss as if it owes me a nickel?” 

Lance chuckled as he sorted the water testing kit on Kay’s rickety table. The retirement home Kay lived in was cute but generic, so the definite sense of style in the room was all Kay. It seemed like all the furniture was standard issue since it’s blandness stuck out among all of her knicknacks. Photos from her time as a nurse and posters of concerts lined the wall. The shelves were filled with books and records. Lance had spent the first half hour just gawking at them. 

“The fish do most of the work, but it’s our job to make sure the fish have a healthy transition into their new home. Then the plants will clean the tank and the fish will fertilize the plants. You just have to harvest what you need and feed the fish,” Lance said over Sammy Turner’s sweet voice as he crooned from the speakers.

Kay sipped at her coffee and nodded. “I have perfect faith in your abilities. I was just referring to the fact that you’ve been on another planet all day.” 

"Hm?" Lance quirked an eyebrow at Kay. "I've been here, testing water, with you. And the fish." He nodded to the betta in the bag. 

“Yes you have,” she agreed. “And if I’m wrong, you can tell an old, senile woman to mind her own business. It just seems as if your mind is preoccupied, and I wondered if it was the sort of thing that could do with a listening ear and some terrible old-folks’-home-style coffee.” 

Lance frowned down at his test tubes. Maybe she was right. With the sort of life she’d lived, Kay probably knew a thing or two about relationships. “Did you ever get the feeling someone might like you but every time you think it, they do something that makes you doubt it?" 

“Ah.” The tone of her voice was serious, but the ice blue of her eyes had that knowing, twinkly look that said  _ I’ve been waiting for you to fess up to this.  _ “That’s more like it. Let the water do its job and come sit with me.”

It would take a while for the results to show and the fish wasn't going anywhere fast. Lance sighed and gave in. "I'm definitely going to need some old folks’ coffee if we're going to talk about this. The strong stuff." 

Kay chuckled warmly, and went to fix him a cup from the old McCormick percolator on its hot plate. “It’s all strong because it’s dreadfully cheap, but enough sugar and it’s tolerable.”

She brought him his sludge in a pretty little porcelain teacup colored with violets. “There. Now, tell me everything.”

“It’s Keith!” Lance blurted before he could stop himself. He groaned and sunk down into his chair, pleading at Kay with his eyes.

Reaching across the table, she patted his knee. “I know, dear. What about him?”

“Ugh.” Lance held his face and shook his head. “I should’ve known you’d know.” With a sigh, he sat up to meet Kay’s eyes. “I can’t tell if he likes me or if he’s just being this weird brand of Southern nice, no offense,” he said, gesturing to Kay. She waved him off and he continued, “Like I  _ swear  _ he flirts with me, but then he’ll turn around and push me away or say we’re friends and-” Instead of finishing his sentence, he sighed again and took a swallow of the nasty coffee.

“Hmm.” Kay took a more refined sip of her own drink. “Well, I’ve known Keith about - oh, three or four years now? And he’s a very sweet, polite young man...but quiet. Reserved. Keeps his cards close to his chest, as we used to say. So tell me a little bit about what he’s done to make you think so.”

Lance blew the hair out of his eyes even though it was too short to get in the way. “It’s just this feeling I get, y’know? We’ll be talking and then all of a sudden the atmosphere changes and it feels like we’re flirting.” It had to be his imagination. Kay would’ve told him if she knew that Keith liked him back. She obviously already knew  _ he _ liked Keith, so it was hopeless. “Then he said something really dumb the other day that made me think…It’s stupid.” 

“It’s not, or you wouldn’t be bothered,” Kay insisted. “What did he say?”

“That I was on top of his list.” Heat rushed to Lance’s cheeks as he said it. It sounded dumb to say to someone else, out loud, in the light of day.

Kay grinned, splitting the maroon of her lipstick. “Well, I’m not certain what list that may be but it sounds promising. List of what?”

Lance shrugged. Why was it so easy to talk to Kay? He really should learn to keep his mouth shut and hold things in. So, of course, he spilled.

“I told him I’m never at the top of anyone’s list, then he, uh. He said  _ that _ . I guess it could mean the top of his friends list or the top of the boys-he-knows-that-sell-flowers list. Who really knows with Keith.” He huffed a laugh that fell into a frown. 

Thoughtfully, Kay stirred her coffee, tapping the little spoon against the side before placing it on the serving tray between them with a satisfying clink. “Now, contrary to popular belief, I may not know everything,” Kay began. “But that doesn’t sound like the sort of line you’d use on a friend. And it doesn’t seem like something a boy like Keith would idly say. It sounds to me like your instincts are right on point. In fact, I’d bet my left shoe that was his way of trying to tell you so.” She paused, considering. “The right shoe, as well.”

“Careful, or you’ll end up barefoot.” He smiled despite his doubt. Kay was just too cute and too blunt to keep a straight face around. “Keith doesn’t seem like the kind of guy to like anyone. He may have said that but he also-” Lance bit his lip, eyed Kay, and then decided to just say it, “I flirt with him, a lot. To see if he’ll flirt back. He never has. He’s nice at best, sweet at most, ignores me at worst. I tried to kiss him. I thought he was going to kiss me. He pushed me away, into the river.”

Kay looked startled. “He did what now?”

“I know it. It’s hopeless, isn’t it?” Lance flopped onto the table next to his coffee and stared at the painted flowers. “I brought him to my secret beach. It's really just a river bank but, anyways- I brought him there and made him cookies and we were skipping rocks. One thing lead to another and we fell and I was on top of him and I could feel it, y’know? That moment right before someone kisses you. So I closed my eyes and-” Lance turned to pout up at Kay. “He’s just like, ‘get off me,’ but super polite, the nicest  _ get off me _ anyone could ever say.”

“Hmm.” Again, Kay paused to give it some thought. Finally, she sighed and gave Lance a small smile. “Well, I can’t say what anyone feels or doesn’t, but I will say I sure got the sense there was something between you, or I wouldn’t have guessed it, now would I? Could be he just needs time.”

Lance shrunk into himself, curling his elbow into a pillow. “I think any more time and I’ll die. My heart can’t take this in between-ness. Either we’re friends or he wants to be more. I can’t keep waiting around to get disappointed.”

Kay shrugged lightly. “Then you’ll have to tell him so.” 

"Tell him?!" Lance sat up so fast he almost knocked over his coffee. He steadied it and gaped at Kay. "I can't tell him! What if. What if he's grossed out and doesn't want to be friends anymore?" 

“Now that won’t happen. I can say that with confidence.” She smiled and patted his knee - a habit of hers, he’d discovered. “His brother’s got a perfectly lovely husband, for one, and second, I’m not so sure Keith lets that many people in, so I imagine he’d work around it.”

“The cop?” Lance chewed on that for a moment. He was being unfair, if he was being honest with himself. Only an asshole would dump their friend for having a crush and Kay was right. Keith wasn’t the kind of person to like or leave anyone very easily. “So just...tell him?”

“Just tell him,” Kay affirmed. “And I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised.”

A slow smile took over Lance’s face. “Yeah, maybe you’re right. But  _ after _ I set up your tank.” He nodded towards the testing kit. “Looks like we have our results. Let’s see if your new baby is going to like his new home.”

~🌸~

Lance had planned to straight up talk to Keith, he really had, but through some bizarre alignment of the planets, it was a very busy week on Main Street. A host of weddings was booked at the river venue as well as the old winery, which meant great things for Lance, of course (though he didn't get anymore tank sales after Kay). The biggest downside was the sudden influx of bridesmaids to the tattoo parlor. Lance hadn't seen Keith since the ghost hunt tour, which ruined all his plans for getting a proper confession out of him. Not even a single text or random lunch invite. Kay was wrong. She had to be, or else why would Keith be so intent on ignoring him? 

His phone went off. He jumped to unlock the screen, thinking it was a text from Keith, but his lunch alarm buzzed back at him instead. Lance sighed. He missed eating with Keith and Sonny. He missed taking breaks to hang out with Red. 

He missed Keith. 

Turning off the alarm, Lance shoved his phone back in his pocket. He needed a distraction. Work; work was a good distraction. That’s what Keith was doing after all. Besides, he had to get caught up on all these wedding orders. 

Grabbing his supplies, he moved to the back room and set to work. Bouquets and boutonnieres at least didn't take much brain power. He hummed as he sorted flowers, dancing to his phone’s Spotify playlist. 

He wasn't even sure how long he'd been working when a voice called over his music. Lance turned it off and swept the bouquets into his arms. 

"-you in?” 

Lance walked backwards, using his body to open the door. “Sorry, I’m pretty swamped, so if you want a boutonniere it’s…gonna...be…Keith?” He squeezed the mini bouquets to his chest. “Hey.” The door pressed against his side but he couldn't get his feet to move.

Keith looked good. Well, he always looked good, but Lance had forgotten just how hot he was in person. Tight pants, tight shirt, a beanie that he probably thought actually hid the fact that he didn’t brush his hair. Lance swallowed.

“Hey yourself.” Keith tossed a Dorito bag on the counter and hurried over to relieve Lance of half his burden. “Busy day in the world of plants I see.” Keith’s hands brushed against his and he tried to ignore it.

“A-ah-ah, no cheese fingers.” Lance stood on his tiptoes to stop Keith from putting his orange-dust fingerprints on the white plastic. God, he even smelled good. It took all of Lance’s willpower not to lean over and sniff him. 

Keith dusted his hands on his pants and Lance let him take a few.

“These weddings are going to be the death of me,” Lance said, doing his best not to sound completely useless. “This is the fifth change to the bridesmaids’ bouquets in  _ three _ days.”

“I guarantee the same ones who are making your life miserable are the ones giving me the best stories I’ve ever gotten to tell.” Keith grinned. “You know the one with the sloppy undercut?” 

“Miss Does-It-Grow-In-Black? Yeah, unfortunately.”

“I tried, man. I promise I did. But she wasn’t hearing it, and now she’s got a big squirting dick on her left asscheek.” 

Lance almost dropped all his flowers. To keep from letting go, he pulled them up, hiding his face as he laughed. Keith’s smile glazed over and Lance didn’t want to think about what the reason for that could be. “No way.  _ Why? _ What do weddings have to do with dicks?” He dumped the cursed bouquets on the counter.

Keith grinned, his normal smile coming back, and shrugged. He set his pile next to Lance’s as if they might break. “I get the feeling this is one of those wait-‘til-marriage groups. It's probably about the mystery of the unknown. In fact, I’d put money on it, based on the drawing she gave me.” 

“Oh my god. Please tell me you have a picture.” Lance pulled out the spool of specially ordered ribbon and his trusty scissors. He began measuring strips for the bows, cutting them, and placing them into a pile. 

“Of course I do.” Keith scoffed and leaned over the counter, reaching for his Doritos. He pulled out his phone, swiping through it. 

Lance leaned over his shoulder to see the screen. The excuse to get closer only made his heart feel like glass. He was helpless and gone for this stupid boy and his body wasn’t helping in the least.

“Check it.” Keith handed him the phone. 

They lost about ten minutes of their young lives then, crying with laughter at the sketches the girl had given Keith for the dick of her dreams. As soon as one of them would calm down, the other would giggle, and the cycle began anew. 

Eventually, Keith blotted his face with the hem of his t-shirt and grinned, watery-eyed, at Lance. “You wanna go to Goolrick’s? I’ll help you with these if you need it so you can take a break.” 

Lance looked towards the back room like he could see through it to all his half-finished projects. Two bride’s bouquets, twelve boutineers, five more bridesmaids’ bouquets, and one bride wanted her flower crown completely revamped before tonight. With toffee roses. Uglyass  _ beige _ toffee roses. Each task sunk his shoulders, until he turned back to Keith, leaning on the counter to help hold himself up. “There’s no way I could take a break even with your help. I’ll have to make do with my…what’d you call my lunch the other day?”

“Fair-trade, virgin-selected, hand-woven burlap lunch.”

“Right. If I can even find time to eat that. Which I probably won’t.” He grabbed the first ribbon and tied a bow around the stem. One down, a billion more to go.

Keith’s smile wavered. “No worries. You wanna show me what to do? I can still help,” he offered, almost shyly.

“What about your lunch?” Lance asked, stepping to the side to give Keith room.

He shrugged. “I have Doritos.”

“Doritos aren’t food,” Lance sighed. “But, I really do need the help. Are you sure?” 

“Yeah, for sure. Just gotta be back by two.” 

“I could kiss you.” And Lance meant it in every way. 

Keith ducked his head, but he was smiling. “Pfft.”

Lance held out the ribbon and showed Keith how to tie it. It didn’t take long, a simple bow with a twist so the pattern was the same on both sides. They worked in silence as Lance internally panicked at all the things he had left to do. It didn’t help that Keith was there either because Lance kept adding  _ him _ to his ‘to-do’ list. 

When Keith nudged him nearly an hour later, Lance had to check the clock twice to even process how much time had gone by. “Huh?” 

“Any, uh...any chance you think you’ll be free tonight?” 

“Tonight?” Lance’s heart sank. Outside of lunch, Keith’s invites were rare and far between. Why today of all days? If only he hadn’t promised- “I want to; I really fucking do.”

“But?”

“But, if by some miracle I finish; I actually have a date tonight.”

“Oh.” 

Keith looked like he’d stopped processing for a moment. He stared at Lance, perplexed. A series of emotions played across his features until they settled on an awkward smile. “Oh! Sweet, cool. Cool. Uh. Good for you. Tell me how it goes. I gotta get back so I’ll catch you later?” 

“Huh?” Lance’s head was still trying to figure out how he was going to get toffee roses to look good next to yellow daffodils. “Wait, Keith, I didn’t mean-”

“You have a date,” Keith repeated, cutting him off. “No worries, we can go some other time.” 

“Yeah, but-” Lance was going to say something, tell him exactly who his date was, but Keith was already turning away and heading for the door. 

In a last ditch effort, he blurted out, “Yeah. Some other time. I want to. Okay? Don’t forget,” he called after Keith’s back.

Keith waved with a farewell grunt. That was...cold.

Lance slumped to the floor and pulled out his phone. He stared at his conversation with Hunk. The last thing he’d sent was a thumbs up at a picture of Hunk at a party. His thumbs hovered over the keyboard. 

“Don’t be stupid. No one cares about your problems,” Lance scolded himself. He shoved the phone in his pocket and stood. He had orders to fill and a grandmother to not disappoint. With determination, he set to work. 

It was hours before his phone buzzed again, the alarm shocking him from his work. Time to close up, and he’d forgotten to eat. Whatever, it didn’t matter. His hyperfocus had gotten him through almost eighty percent of his total orders so tomorrow would be the first day in a while where he could relax. Plus, he’d get to eat tonight. 

Lance cleaned up and paused when he found the lonely bag of Doritos lying on the counter. Keith’s forgotten Doritos. He’d probably want them later. With a sigh, Lance placed them in the drawer under the cash register and grabbed a spare daffodil on his way out. Before getting on his bike, he jogged over to Keith’s shop and stuck it into the keyhole. “Sorry,” he whispered to the door. “Next time, I promise.”

He made it home with a half hour to spare before Abuelita was going to pick him up - just enough time to freshen up and change. The doorbell rang as he tugged a clean shirt over his head. 

Lance opened the door and was swept into a brittle hug. He laughed and squeezed his grandmother back. After a moment, she let him go so that she could spin him around and critique his appearance, too skinny, too bony, not eating enough. Lance grinned and kissed her cheek. It never changed. He could probably weigh a million pounds and she’d say the same thing.

“You look beautiful, Lita.” And she did with her Sunday hat, floral dress, and white gloves. She finished the look with white orthopedic shoes. It was adorable. “You ready for a night out?” He held out his elbow. 

“With my most handsome date,” she insisted. Then added, as an afterthought, “Don’t tell your brothers. Oh - or your  _ papi _ .” 

They took her car, an old Nissan that still smelled like crayons from when her grandchildren were young. It was comforting, and as he drove, he listened to her talk about her health problems, and how hard it was getting old, and how her teacher at her beading class didn’t know anything about making jewelry. There were a few times that she mentioned someone or referenced something in passing - that fact that Emmeline ought to be teaching the beading class, for example - that startled Lance into recognition. These had just been names and nonsense before whenever he’d called her - details he had no cause to pay attention to. Now he knew them. Some of them. Their worlds were bleeding in a way that made him...well, he didn’t really know how he felt about it. 

So he didn’t dwell. It was nice just to hear her talk in person again. 

He dropped her off at The General Store. He hadn’t realized it wouldn’t have an actual name, or rather, that “The General Store” was literally its name because there apparently wasn’t another one around for who knew how far. The fact that it was a general store at all was baffling in its own way. Like...those were real? And not just backdrops for cheesy Westerns or something? 

Abuelita promised to wait while Lance doubled back a few blocks to park outside of his shop. It was only a five minute walk or so, but the lack of parking made the crowd seem huge for Peach Springs. Must be a real party, he thought with an inward snort. Not like there was anything better to do on a Thursday night within about a million miles.

It was kinda cute, though. He could hear the music before he even turned the corner, along with the general murmur, clink of beer bottles, and laughter that meant people were having fun somewhere close by. His grandma looped her arm through his and half-dragged him around the back in her slow, shuffling, old-lady way. There was a whole backyard-type area with a fence, folding chairs, and strands and strands of christmas lights making the whole thing cheerful and twinkly-yellow. Just beyond the edge of the yard, Lance could hear the river rushing by. 

Lance guided them through the crowd to one of the open seats close to the live music at his abuela’s insistence. Mariposa whispered close to his ear, pointing out this person and that person, catching him up on the small details of their lives. More than a few people came over to chat, as if she was a local celebrity, and she ate the attention up with a huge smile. She really did know everyone. It made Lance uneasy again, that same creeping disquiet that he had no idea who these people were and that he didn’t really know his own grandmother.

He was in the middle of asking what she wanted to eat when he froze. Because there, in front of him, was Keith. 

He was playing guitar alongside a few other locals on the wide, open back porch that functioned as a makeshift stage. There was a guy on the banjo, two on the fiddle, one on drums, and a lady Lance had never met was doing her level best at mimicking Dolly Parton. She wasn’t terrible, which was about what he’d expected out of music at the General Store. They were evidently right at the end of a set, since she bowed at the end of her song and the band set their instruments down to take a beer break. 

Keith accepted one from the banjo guy, pressing the cap to his arm and twisting it right off. It made the female fiddler, the ginger girl from Four H, H Four? Whatever.  _ Her. _ The one with the cringey crush on Keith, giggle and smile wide at him. Keith gave a polite smile back before tilting the bottle up and downing half of it in a series of long swallows that made his throat bob. 

Lance swallowed in time with Keith. He looked good under the glow of the string lights. The guitar suited him, kinda like how Lance’s bike matched Lance himself. His playing, for what Lance caught of it, was skilled. The whole scene stole his voice. Was this what Keith had wanted to invite him to? To come and watch him play? 

Keith stood when the ginger girl tugged on his arm and pointed into the store itself. He shrugged and followed her inside. 

Lance's eyes snapped to her hand touching Keith. It was stupid, the whole thing was stupid. She was obviously too young and Keith was just tolerating her crush. Right? The slow creep of jealousy made Lance nauseous and he tried to focus on something else. He was thinking about the lights and how much fun Lita was having and the dirt patches between the trodden grass; he was absolutely  _ not _ thinking about why they were taking so long. 

They didn’t come out until the rest of the band was already tuning and getting settled. Ginger Girl didn’t unlace herself from Keith’s arm until they were both seated and had to pick up their instruments once more. 

Lance pressed into his abuela's side. A small comfort. He wished he was close enough to Keith that he could casually hang onto him the same way. That he could do it and no one here would bat an eye. He blinked, erasing the image of himself clinging to Keith. and focused on the stage.

Keith downed the rest of his beer and fit his fingers to the fret, nodding as the previous singer adjusted the microphone down to meet him where he was sitting. 

“Alright,” he said into it, low and husky from use. “Y’all havin’ a good time?” 

There were a few generalized whoops and whistles. 

“Good enough for me.” Keith shrugged and a few people chuckled. “Jenny says the brisket’s ready if you were waiting on it. Meanwhile you’re stuck with me, cuz she won’t feed me if I don’t sing her favorite song. So if you’re tired of it, take it up with her.” 

He began to play and was joined shortly by the banjo player, the ginger, and the second fiddler who had swapped with a bass guitar. 

Keith’s voice, when he sang, had the same rasp it always did, but it was drawn out and amplified by the notes. It was good - nothing special or astounding, but the kind of voice that fit guitar. 

“ _ Whiskey, won't you come and take my troubles _

_ 'Cause I can't seem to do it on my own _

_ In the morning there is hours and infinity _

_ The starlit evening's come to take me home” _

Lance tried to catch his eye but Keith was closing them or looking at the ground every other line, as if he was trying to keep the experience private. 

_ “I ain't got a dime in my pocket _

_ I just stepped on my last cigarette _

_ But there's a bar downtown that'll give me credit _

_ A home away from home, away I went _ ,”

Mariposa patted Lance's arm in excitement and leaned over to whisper how much she loved this song. Lance had never heard it before. Country wasn't his thing; not even close. He hated the raspy twang and high pitched slide that seemed to accompany every song in the genre. Yet. The longer Keith sang the more he thought the song wasn't quite that bad. 

“ _ My home is with the hills and trees around me _

_ My ceiling holds the moon and stars above _

_ So I'll never be a lonely man a'walking _

_ I'll never live one day without love. _ ”

When he finished the verse, he glanced up at the crowd and scanned over them briefly before his eyes lit on Lance. They widened, mouth going slack, before he recovered. Lance’s heart almost stopped when Keith gave him a pleased, shy smile and a nod. 

_ Hey, _ Lance mouthed. He pointed at his abuela, grinning and proud.  _ My date. _

Keith glanced at her, confused, until she waved back with a merry smile. Then he leaned away from the mic to smother a laugh. When the next verse started, he was decidedly more invested, giving the last part his all.

The lights glittered around them and the moon shone full in the sky. People chatted and ate and some sang along around him, but all Lance saw was Keith and his guitar and his shining eyes that flicked now and then to smile at him. As the last strum faded and scattered applause broke out around him, Lance realized that this unknown song was now his favorite song in the whole world. It seemed like Keith had that kind of power; to transform things Lance thought he hated into something beautiful. 

Keith leaned in and spoke to the bass player, who nodded and accepted Keith’s guitar. When they started playing another song, a lively instrumental piece, Keith jumped from the porch and made his way over to Lance and Mariposa, hands in his pockets. 

“Hey,” he said, bending at her insistence to give her a hug. “Lance told me he had a date, but I didn’t think she’d be so pretty.” 

“I have standards. Only the best for me.” Lance was about to introduce them and stopped. “You probably know each other already, don’t you?”

“Keith,” his grandmother said in her thick accent. “Still  _ too  _ skinny. You eat? Every day?” 

“Every day, Ma’am.” Keith glanced at Lance, daring him with his eyes to hold his opinions on Keith’s eating habits. 

And oh, Lance had a lot to say, but maybe a little help to eat something other than chips wouldn’t make him too mad. “I’m sure he wouldn’t say no to your  _ ropa vieja _ if you want me to give him some.”

She turned to Lance, her voice chiding, “ _ Sí, no seas tacaño. Necesitas cuidar mejor a tu novio _ .” Mariposa looked toward Keith with concern while Lance turned three shades of red. 

“Wow. What a great idea, Abuelita,” he said, loud enough for Keith to hear. “C’mon Keith, let’s get some BBQ.” Lance stood, glaring down at Mariposa. 

“Uh, yeah, okay.” Keith blinked. “You want any, Mrs. F?” 

"No, no. You two have fun. Go, go." She waved them away. "I have people to see. I am very popular." Keith snorted as she stood and abandoned the pair to make her rounds saying hello. 

"I guess I've been ditched by my date." Lance pouted. 

“She was too good for you anyway.”

As they walked over to the Barbecue station together, Keith glanced at him. He looked more openly happy than Lance had ever seen him. “What’s up?” Lance asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Sure didn’t expect to see you here, but I’m glad you are.” 

"Why not? You're the one that told me this was the hottest spot in town." Lance laughed, his heart still beating wildly despite the distance between himself and Mariposa's embarrassing comments. "My grandma’s been feeling better and I thought I'd take her out." 

“That’s sweet. S’good to see her again.” Keith shook his head a little as he glanced over to where Mariposa was making herself quite comfortable talking to a group of about seven people at once. “Man, you really do look like her.” 

"Just as pretty?" Lance had no idea where the food was. The whole place smelled like campfire and meat. He hoped Keith knew where he was going, because if they were both following each other, then they were going nowhere fast. 

Keith laughed. “Even prettier. C’mon, you’re going to visit the goats if you keep heading that way. Food’s around the right.” He gripped Lance’s wrist and tugged him back on track. 

The word  _ pretty _ bubbled up from his toes to his stomach and overflowed across his face. It sent warm waves through him that focused on where Keith's hand wrapped around his wrist. They were practically holding hands. He  _ wanted  _ them to be holding hands, but to do that he'd have to make Keith let go, and that seemed worse. 

"There's goats?" Lance asked, still focused on Keith's touch. 

“Yeah, no shit, you can’t hear them? Or smell them?” At Lance’s blank look, Keith chuckled. “Alright, I’ll make you a deal. Food first cuz I’m starving, then I’ll bother Jenny to let you in to pet the goats until my next set. Cool?”

Lance nodded. He'd agree to anything as long as Keith didn't let go. "Yeah, cool." 

True to his word, Keith brought them to the long lines of tables heaped with all kinds of chargrilled and smoked food. He fixed a plate of barbecue for himself and grabbed Lance a plate of grilled vegetables. “Good?” he asked, showing him the heaping mountain he’d piled up. “Anything else? Potato salad, macaroni salad, cornbread, fried okra, fried green tomatoes…”

“Uh. No butter, no cheese, no lard, no mayo, no eggs. What does that leave me?”

“Pretty sure the cornbread has no eggs or butter, but I think it does have sugar?” He made a face, clearly trying his best to remember everything on the list of what Lance could and couldn’t eat. 

“Sugar is fine, it’s a plant. Cornbread then, and um...Are fried green tomatoes real?”

Keith furrowed his brow. “What do you mean, ‘real,’ they’re right in front of you.” 

“I mean. That’s not a real food, right? You can’t fry green tomatoes. They’re poison.”

“ _ What _ ?”

“I mean that you can’t eat green tomatoes at all, right? Is that...not right?” Doubt slowed down Lance’s voice and he bit his lip. He’d never eaten a green tomato before. Heck, he’d never seen a tomato be green, except for when it was growing. He figured that eating a tomato before it was ripe was bad or something. He’d never put much thought into  _ why _ green tomatoes were poison. 

For the second time in their friendship, Lance startled Keith into surprised, loud laughter, and just like the first time, Keith seemed equally as taken aback by it as Lance. When he could breathe, he shook his head with a fond smile. “No, dumbass, they’re just tomatoes that aren’t ripe yet. Harder, easy to coat in cornmeal. They’re tart and salty. Try one, and hey, if it kills you, I promise you never have to eat it again.”

“That’s not a hard promise to keep,” Lance muttered. “Fine, cornbread and death tomatoes, please.”

Keith bumped him with his elbow. “Comin’ up.” 

When he had their plates assembled, Keith led them back and snagged a space at the end of a bench for them both. “Alright, let’s hear it.”

"Hear what?" 

“Your expert opinion on death tomatoes.”

"I mean, I'd like a few more minutes of life. There's so many things I haven't done, so many people I haven't kissed." 

Keith stabbed at his brisket with his fork. “Planning on doing a lot of that in your time?” 

"Of course. Aren't you?" Lance poked at the tomato that he couldn't really see the color of since it was covered in so much batter. Honestly, it had lost any of the qualities that made it identifiable as a tomato from the outside. 

“No.”

Keith’s answer was short and came without hesitation. He took a bite of his food and took his time chewing. 

"Well," Lance said, holding it out as he chewed on his thoughts. Keith was so hard to read. How the hell was he supposed to follow Kay’s advice when Keith kept giving off the mother of all mixed signals? He sighed and scooped up the fried poison. "I was going to ask you if you'd kiss me if the tomato killed me, but I guess I'll have to find someone else." 

Keith couldn’t answer. He had inhaled the bite he’d taken and was busy coughing hard, hitting his own chest.

"Woah, you okay?" Lance hit his back. "Did the tomato get to you first?" 

When he could eventually breathe again, eyes watering, Keith choked out, “Yeah, yeah I guess so.” 

“That doesn’t instill much confidence in me about not dying.” Lance rubbed a few circles on his back and turned to his tomato of death. “What do I get for eating this if I’m going to die kiss-less?”

“Why would you want to be kissed  _ after  _ it killed you,” Keith mumbled, half to himself, still rubbing his chest and coughing now and then. 

Lance pushed his water closer to Keith. “Better dead than never I guess. At least I can go to the afterlife happy. So what do I get if I die?”

Keith nodded in thanks and took a bracing swallow. When he looked at Lance, one eyebrow raised in challenge, his voice was still raspy and strained. “A kiss. Dead man’s final wishes. If the green tomato kills you, I’ll drag your corpse up on stage and kiss you in front of everyone - your grandma included.” 

“Sounds fair.” Lance took a deep breath, staring Keith in the eye as he opened his mouth. And bit. It was very oily and a little sour but not awful. Definitely not his thing. But, not awful. The worst part was that he wasn’t dying. 

Lance frowned. He needed to get better at his betting skills.

“So?” Keith gave him a dry smile. 

“It’s…okay.” He put it down on Keith’s plate. “I’ll stick to the grilled veggies though.”

“Fair. And what have we learned today?” 

"To make better bets that I can actually win." 

Keith’s face hadn’t yet lost its red flush as he looked at Lance, curious and guarded as if he were trying to assess whether or not he was being tricked. “...So maybe...next time,” he said carefully, “Keep it so that you’re actually alive to enjoy the prize.”

"Smart." There was a heaviness in the air that wasn't there before. Until now, every moment like this had turned into a dead end. Lance didn't care; there was something different about tonight and the lights and the way Keith had smiled so open and wide when he’d seen him. The way he’d agreed to a kiss.

Lance shifted, sliding his foot so that his leg was pressed against Keith's. Heart hammering in his chest, he hoped that his voice came out steady. "You think the prize could be the same?" 

There was a sharp inhale as Lance’s words registered. Keith stared directly into Lance’s eyes, going from one to the other as if he could determine what Lance was thinking if he just looked deep enough. He swallowed. Licked his lips. Swallowed again. “I,” he started, but his voice cracked so much he had to try again. “I think that could be-”

“Keith! Keith, you done yet?” 

Keith startled and jerked around to find the ginger - Maryanne, that was her name - jogging over and waving him back. 

“C’mon, lazy butt, you gotta take over for Ryan before he sings anymore. Everyone’s gonna lose their supper if you don’t.” 

He waved back at her. “Coming. Give me a sec.”

She huffed and beckoned him again more forcefully. “You don’t got a sec! He’s about to take your part in ‘The Boxer’ and nobody asked for that kinda pain.” 

Sighing, Keith pushed himself to standing. “Alright, alright, go on back and tell him I’m coming. And grab me another beer.” She nodded and ran off. “None of the lite shit! You hear me? Maryanne!” She waved as she kept going. 

He looked back down at Lance with an apologetic smile. “Duty calls. Bring your plate back with you.”

Lance was staring off at Maryanne like she’d kicked his puppy. “Yeah. Okay.” He picked up his plate. He’d probably left Lita alone for too long anyway.

They were about three steps away from where they’d been sitting when Keith turned suddenly and grabbed Lance by the wrist once more. With a quick glance up, he tugged Lance towards him and pressed a soft, fleeting kiss to his cheek. He exhaled shakily, painting Lance’s skin with his breath before he pulled away with a quick, nervous smile and jogged back over to the stage. 

There was barely any time to react. Keith was gone before Lance even knew what happened. He stood there, plate in hand, as he blinked at Keith’s back. It was another full second before his brain restarted and his free hand flew to his cheek. He turned in a circle, looking around as if someone would explain what had just happened.  _ What? _ His mind screamed.  _ What was that?! _

A slow smile spread across Lance’s face as his feet came to a halt in the grass. His skin grew hot under his hand.  _ Keith had kissed him. _ On the cheek, but  _ still _ . Lance wanted to dance and sing and  _ where was Abuelita? _ He had to tell her. Making his way closer to the stage, he looked around for his grandmother in various circles and around different tables.

[[

A foot struck out and tripped him up enough that he had to take a few extra steps and right his plate. Before he could say anything, a deep, accented drawl interrupted him. 

“Aw, wouldja look at that. Looks like little flower faggot’s got himself a boyfriend.” 

The man was large, barely older than Lance, but already looked as if he’d aged beyond his years. His thin yellow hair was mashed down by a ballcap, and his grin split a face covered in blotchy patches of red. He was leaning casually against one of the poles that sectioned off the outdoor seating area, his olive green t-shirt pulled tight over a barreled chest and sporting the logo of the bait and tackle shop two streets over. 

It only took another second for Lance to realize where he’d seen the guy before: in the alley, the first day he’d ever seen Keith. 

His grin widened as Lance took him in, but it wasn’t friendly. It was broad, a little dangerous, given a glinting edge by the hardness of his eyes. “Que pasa, spick? Tryin’ to have a friendly conversation here. No hablo enough In-glace for that?” 

"I-" Lance's focus shifted behind the man to his friend, a skinnier, taller guy with a permanent scowl and a buzzcut. "I speak English just fine." The man in front of him must've noticed that he no longer had Lance’s attention because he spit on the grass at Lance’s feet. 

The brief high from Keith’s kiss came crashing down around him. It was everything he could do to keep up with the emotional switch. 

Everyone he'd met so far had ranged from nice to uncaring, but not one person had been hostile. Not one person had been cruel. This guy right here was the South he'd been scared to meet and he was happy that Abuela was having fun somewhere else, nice and safe. 

“Yeah? That so? Then listen real careful, cuz I’m only gonna say it once.” Green-T-Shirt leaned into Lance’s face, close enough that he could smell the beer on his breath. “You keep that faggoty shit back in your faggoty shop where no one else has to see it, y’hear? Nobody wants your queer ass ruining a good night for everyone. Com-pren-day?” 

He wanted to shove his plate of soggy, cold veggies into the dude’s face. He wanted to argue and have Hunk’s bulking frame back him up. God, he missed his friends. Here there was no one to stick up for him. Here, he had to assume this dude had a gun or could get a gun or had friends with guns. Right now, he was more scared than he’d ever been walking down a dirty backstreet in California. At least he knew where the dangerous places were back home and they shouldn’t be at a cookout. Biting his tongue, he nodded. “Jus’ leave me alone.”

The guy grinned wider, if that was possible. “Gladly. Have a good night, Jose.” He tipped his ballcap. “Welcome to the neighborhood.” 

]]

Speed walking away, Lance dumped his plate in a trash can overrun with flies and spotted his abuela near the stage. He jogged over and tugged on her sleeve. “Hey, Abuelita. We gotta go home.”

“Lance! There you are  _ mi vida _ , I have some people I want you to meet.” 

“Hi. Nice to meet you all, I'm sure.” Lance said to the group. “Sorry, it’s getting late, I have to take my grandmother home.”

If she had been about to protest, one look at her grandson’s expression had the elder Fuentes making her polite excuses and promising to see everyone soon. As they were leaving the General Store, she grabbed the back of Lance’s shirt and pulled hard. 

“Slow down, your legs are too long,” Mariposa complained. When he reeled back from the tug, she fixed him with a stern look. “What happened? You look like you saw a ghost.”

“Nothing. It’s fine. It was a nice idea, but I don’t really fit in.” It felt like his heart was going to slam out of his chest and it was everything he could do not to break down in front of Mariposa. Taking conscious steps, he slowed down to match her pace, no matter how his body screamed to run.

She stood still and planted herself firmly on the sidewalk. “Tell me.” 

Lance sighed and ran his hands through his hair. Eyes flicking to the party behind him, he slumped. “Okay. I’ll tell you in the car, alright? Let’s get out of here first.”

She relented and they made it a few blocks down before Lance heard the thunder of footsteps behind him pounding on the concrete of the sidewalk as they ran. 

_ Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. Fuck,  _ his mind raced as he looked down at his abuela. She couldn’t run and he had to make sure whoever had followed him, whether it was the blonde guy or the slim one, that she didn’t get hurt. 

“Look, we’re leaving. So could you just-” He turned to see Keith and his heavy black workboots pounding towards them. “Keith?” 

“Lance,” Keith huffed, slowing down as he got closer. “What happened? I saw you come back to the stage, and then you left, and...was it...did I…?”

“No. What?” Lance quirked his head, confused. “No. I just had to leave. Why is everyone so concerned about it?”

“I just thought…” Keith scratched at the back of his neck, letting his arm fall down across his chest and then uselessly to his side. His fist clenched and unclenched. “I’d upset you. That I had crossed a line or. Or something. Is that what happened?”

The fact that Keith would even be thinking that was so far outside Lance’s realm of thought that it shocked him into the present. “No! No, no. Not that. No.” Ugh. He glanced to his abuela who gave him  _ the look _ and he sighed, defeated. “Fine. There was this guy and he said some things. It’s not important. I overreacted and now I feel stupid so can we all just drop it?”

Keith’s eyes narrowed. “What guy.”

“I don’t know his name. Tall, dumb and balding. Same guy from the alley.”

That didn’t help Keith’s expression lighten one bit. He took another step forward and put a hand on Lance’s shoulder. “You’re shaking,” he murmured, almost to himself. His grip tightened and his eyes were sharp and bright in the streetlight. “Lance. What did he say to you.”

“Why? What are you going to do?” Lance leaned into Keith’s strong hand. It was warm and grounding. 

Before Keith could answer, Mariposa leaned over. She placed a hand on his back, and whispered into his ear. Lance nodded and handed over the keys. With a pat, she left them alone.

“Sorry. It’s just. It’s stupid. It’s no big deal, okay? Promise you won’t do anything about it if I tell you.”

“If it made you look the way you looked when you left, or the way you’re shaking now, it’s not stupid.” Keith’s voice was firm, unyielding. “Talk to me, Lance, please?” 

“He tripped me and then said some stuff, called me names, y’know, that kind of thing.”

Keith’s hand traveled from his shoulder to cup his cheek and his other hand sought out Lance’s, rubbing his thumb across Lance’s knuckles. “What stuff?” 

Lance closed his eyes. Why did tonight have to be tainted by some asshole? He just wanted to enjoy this strange new thing between them. “He made fun of my English, called me Jose, I remember that. I don’t remember everything exactly. Called me the f-wo-” Keith probably didn’t know what that was, he might think it meant fuck. Lance corrected himself, “Faggot.” He didn’t want to talk about what the guy said about him and Keith. Everything was so shaky, it might make Keith skittish and run away again, but on the other hand it would mean lying about the hostility towards him too. “Told me something like keeping my f-ways with my boyfriend inside my f-shop.”

The glacial sheen that fell over Keith’s eyes made him look outright feral in the dim light of the street lamps. “...Where are you parked? I’m going to walk you to your car.” 

Lance nodded down the street. “M’shop.” His heart was returning to normal and the numbing fear was wearing off. In their place were Keith’s rough hands and strong presence. “I’m sorry. I ruined the night.”

“No, you didn’t.” Keith brought Lance’s chin up and frowned at him. “I shouldn’t have...I should have thought before I did that, but listen -  _ you  _ didn’t do anything. Assholes like Dempsey are out to make life miserable for everyone, and you were just the unlucky target tonight. They’re nothing, and for what it’s worth, no one else likes them either.” He tried for a small smile. “Let’s get you and your grandma home safe.” 

“Okay.” Lance didn’t move out of Keith’s grasp. He was too scared of that first part. The part where it sounded like Keith was regretting what he’d done. God, he hated it here. It wasn’t like this kind of thing couldn’t happen back home, but it was way less likely. “I wanna go home. This place sucks.”

“Just a few blocks, okay? Then you can go home.” Keith tugged at his hand, urging him along but not letting go. 

Lance shook his head. “Not to my apartment. I wanna go  _ home _ . I wanna go back where my friends and family are. I miss Hunk.”

Keith stiffened, but he kept walking. “Yeah, I bet.”

“Hunk is huge, like his name, there’d be no way that guy would’ve messed with me if Hunk were here.” 

“Mmm.” 

“It’s been almost a month since I’ve seen him, or my friend Pidge, or my sisters. I’m going to be an uncle soon and I’m stuck out here with flowers and assholes.” Lance hoped Keith understood he didn’t mean him. That was obvious, right? 

Keith was far enough in front of him that Lance couldn’t see his face, but he did call back, “Lucky you’re not here forever, then, right?” 

Was Keith mad? Lance thought he could hear something cold behind that warm drawl. "Yeah. Just until my brother can take over. Then I can go back if I want. I do want to at least make up the money I put into it." 

“M’sure you’ll get there soon. Just gotta suffer the flowers and assholes a little longer.” 

"Yeah," Lance huffed a breathy laugh. "At least I have you 'til then." 

Keith was silent for the rest of the walk, keeping pace just ahead of Lance so that he could never get a good look at the other boy’s expression. When they got to the corner of Sofya and Main, Keith pulled up short. He stared ahead to where Lance’s car was parallel parked outside his shop. 

“Your grandma’s in the car, looks like. You good? Doing okay?” 

"Yeah, thanks." Lance fiddled with his fingers. He wanted to kiss Keith goodbye, but there was something wrong. Standoffish. Taking a tiny step closer he decided to try anyway. "Wanna make a bet?" 

Keith looked at him, blank-faced. “What’s that.”

"I bet you won't kiss me." 

The look Keith gave him was a maelstrom of emotions, foremost of which were hurt and sadness. He closed his eyes and took a breath. When he opened them again, he managed a small, weak smile and brought Lance’s hand up to his lips, watching his reaction. Then he kissed his knuckles, lingering for a second as if memorizing each dip and curve and the scent of his skin before he let their hands drop. 

“Have a good night, Lance.” Keith gave him another indecipherable look before he turned back the way he’d come, hands shoved as deep into his pockets as they could go. 

Lance wrapped his arms around himself. The cold spring night chilled him through his thin shirt and he shivered. It should feel like a beginning, so why did it feel like an ending? 

The way Keith had looked at him, as if he were personally responsible for every bad thing that had ever happened. As if Lance had broken his heart with that request instead of setting it on fire. Lance wanted to cry. Why was Keith so hard to figure out? 

Keith’s back disappeared around the corner. "Goodnight," he whispered. 

~🌸~

If he could have sunk into the couch cushions and dissolved away entirely, he would have. As it stood, Keith had no choice but to turn his face into the flashlight by the touch of calloused, insistent fingers. 

“M’fine,” he grunted, squeezing his eyes shut. 

“Like hell you are. What happened, Keith? I thought we were past this shit.”

Keith winced. “You don’t understand.”

The flashlight clicked off and he was left staring into his brother’s face, equal parts stern and concerned. “So talk to me. Tell me why you’ve ignored my calls for four days, and more importantly, why Louis Carrington, Barry Dempsey and my little brother were all two fists away from cooling their heels in the county jail.” It wasn’t a question. 

Keith sat up, holding his ice pack to what was left of his face. He couldn’t look at Shiro. Getting his face slammed into meat was one thing; disappointing Shiro? Fuck, that was next-level - the kind he didn’t think he’d ever have to deal with again. “Look. They were bullying that new kid across the street. Mrs. Fuentes’ grandson. Called him a fag and lots of racist shit. I couldn’t just stand there and let them get away with it.”

“Yes you can!” Shiro pushed his shoulder, rough enough to show his displeasure and send Keith teetering to his side. “You  _ absolutely  _ can just stand there, and call the cops, and let  _ us  _ do our jobs!” 

“And what’re you gonna do about it?” Keith shot back. “Huh? Nothin’, cuz all you got is someone’s hearsay. You have no official jurisdiction over douchebags allegedly saying shit. They get away with it all the time, and someone had to do something. Teach ‘em a thing or two about messing with people who don’t deserve it.” 

Shiro gave him that  _ look _ : the one that said ‘I’m trying so hard to believe you have a good reason for doing the things you do.’ Keith looked away from it right as Shiro asked, “Why this kid?”

Keith did his best to turtle himself into his own shoulders.

“Keith,” Shiro said. A warning. 

“Told you. He doesn’t deserve it. He’s sweet.” The way Shiro’s eyebrows shot up at the word ‘sweet’ let him know he done _fucked._ _Up_. 

“I see.” 

The pillow Keith grabbed made his face ache as he smooshed into it. 

“So you…”

Just. Just let him die. Send him to jail. Anything so Shiro wouldn’t say-

“Like him?  _ Like- _ like him?”

There was no God. 

Keith sat up, resigned to his fate, and glared at his dad of a brother. “What are you, twelve? Who says that?”

Shiro ignored him. “Answer the question, pulp-face, or I will absolutely take you to jail.” 

Defeated, Keith sank back against the couch and slumped, picking at a loose thread on his THE TRUTH IS OUT THERE pillow. “Doesn’t matter. Not gonna go anywhere.” 

And that was the crux of it. Lance was a California boy, and this little street that meant so much to Keith in his arc of redemption was just a transitory stop-over until Lance could move across country again. Permanently. He’d all but said it himself: he could have Keith in the meantime. Someone to tide him over and make his time here less miserable. Disposable. Temporary. 

And the worst part was? Keith was already so hung up on him that he would probably allow it. 

“Why not?” Shiro’s voice was kind, his hand on Keith’s shoulder familiar and warm and dangerously close to making him cry. He looked up into Shiro’s kind eyes and had to bite his lip.

“He’s moving back. He hates it here.”

Shiro’s face softened and he brought Keith in for a hug. The feel of his compression shirt and the smell of his cologne made Keith feel thirteen again, and the lump in his throat threatened to choke up his words in favor of just bawling like an idiot. He did feel one hot trail slither past the inflamed skin on his face, and it burned like hell when he knuckled it away, biting down on everything and pushing it far, far into the recesses of himself - the dusty closets he only peeked into in the hours between 3 in the morning and dawn. 

“I won’t pry,” Shiro began. At Keith’s skeptical glare, he held his hands up in surrender. “I mean it. You wanna talk, we can talk, but I won’t push you when you look like you met the wrong end of a trash compactor. All I’m saying is...you know, maybe you should just tell him and be done with it. Rip the Band-Aid off and see what happens. Usually that helps, whatever the outcome is.” 

“Maybe,” Keith said, and they both knew that meant “no.” 

Resigned, Shiro stroked his back and said, “Listen. I’ll make a fresh pot of coffee if you lay here and ice that mess. You can even pick the  _ X-Files  _ episode.” 

Keith sniffled. “‘Jose Chung’s  _ From Outer Space _ .’” 

Shiro rolled his eyes. “Figured.” 

Keith had another few minutes of reprieve while Shiro fussed with the coffee pot before he had to start wallowing all over again when Shiro asked, “What are these?”

He didn’t have to look to know. 

Over the last four days, while he’d been ignoring everyone and hunkering down in his closed shop with Red while he healed up, Keith had only one form of outside communication: the sudden, quiet appearance of a new type of flower lodged in his keyhole every morning. 

He’d assembled a small, mismatched bouquet next to his coffee machine. The only thing that seemed to be constant were the colors: all of them were purple and white. They were pretty and all, but Keith would have preferred talking to Lance in person. He was just too chickenshit to show the tragedy that was his ugly face. “They’re uh...they’re from Lance.”

“I gathered,” Shiro said drily, twirling the violet between his fingers. “Any idea what they mean?”

Keith shrugged. “I dunno…’You’re a dickhead, answer your phone?’”

Shiro scoffed. “No, idiot. I mean, what do they  _ mean.  _ Lance owns a flower shop. Pretty sure these are purposeful. Not every day a pretty boy comes along to jam something in your keyhole.”

After Shiro had gotten a good shoulder punch for laughing at the way Keith blushed at that phrasing, Keith had taken out his phone to Google. Turned out - annoyingly and as usual - Shiro had probably been correct. The flowers meant something. 

Purple hyacinth - I’m sorry.

White tulip - A tense relationship calming down.

Violet - shyness 

“Fuck,” Keith said eloquently. “I’m so fucking stupid.”

“Yeah, you are,” Shiro agreed. “But you can figure out what to do with this information while we watch. Hand me the remote.”

They made it through Keith’s chosen episode and two more before Keith nodded off on the couch. Shiro tugged the blanket up to his chin and ruffled Red’s fur as he shrugged on his coat and headed for the front. As Shiro pulled the door closed behind himself, he nearly collided with someone a foot or so from the threshold. 

“Oops, sorry - oh hey there, Lance,” Shiro said, smiling. “The shop’s closed for now, though. Did you have an appointment?”

Lance hid something behind his back. "Uh, no. I mean, yeah, no. Just, it's fine. Wait. It's closed?" 

No wonder Keith was gone for him, he was exactly Keith’s type: guileless, energetic, pretty. “Yeah, Keith’s not feeling so hot, and that’s not great for sticking needles into people, you know?” He smiled and shrugged. “He should be back on his feet within the week. He said something about calling his clients to reschedule at a discount so I’m sure you’ll hear from him.” 

"That's nice of him." Lance turned, looking back at his shop. Shiro didn’t pretend to know his flowers, but he could swear it was an orchid. The purple blossoms were just visible behind Lance’s elbow and the petals shifted gently in the breeze. "I guess I'll come back then. Once he calls me." 

Shiro paused, glancing at the flowers. “Wait. Sorry but uh...are those for Keith?”

“Hm?” Lance pinked and looked over his shoulder at the hidden flowers. “Oh, these?” He pulled them out from hiding with a snort-laugh. “No.” He shook his head vehemently, stopped, and pouted. “Yes? What’s the correct answer?” Lance asked, almost pleaded. 

Shiro considered him, then turned back around and unlocked the store again, pocketing his spare key. “Go on in. He’s in the back. He’ll probably kill me, but...I think he could use the company, if you’re free.” 

"I wasn't…" Lance shifted from foot to foot, staring at the bouquet. He seemed to be debating with them before he looked Shiro in the eye and nodded. "Thanks, dude. You're a real bro." 

Raising an eyebrow and smiling, Shiro shrugged and thwapped him on the back as he left. 

Before Lance could take three steps into the dark shop, Red was twining herself around his ankles, yelling at him like she’d been saving the lecture for weeks. 

He knelt down and scratched her chin. "Sorry, love," he whispered, "Did I abandon you?" 

“ _ MMAOW!!”  _

A few more scratches around her ears and he stood up. The whole place was dark and the quiet conversations from some tv show or another were the only sound. All of a sudden he felt like he was trespassing. 

"Keith?" he whispered. 

He made his way around the counter, which was difficult with Red weaving between his feet. Following the flickering light of the TV, he found himself in Keith's break area. 

Keith was stretched haphazardly along the length of his couch with one leg hanging off the side entirely and an arm thrown up above his head. His mouth was half-open, and he was snuffling in a sort of congested half-snore. When the scene changed on the TV, it lit up his face, and Lance could see why he was having trouble breathing. The skin around his eye was so dark it was practically indigo, and the eyelid was swollen shut. His nose was inflamed, and the skin of his cheek and jaw was dappled with purple and red. He had a few angry cuts as well, including a massive split down the left side of his lip and what looked like a horrible rugburn of some kind across his forehead. 

Lance gasped. What the fuck had happened? At the most he'd thought Keith was sick. But this? Keith looked like he'd gotten in an accident. He should be in the hospital. 

Quiet as possible, Lance backed out of the room. He crossed the entrance and carefully shut the door on his way out, making sure Red didn’t escape. At least he kept a first aid kit and some medical herbs in the back. If Shiro was there, why hadn’t he taken him to the hospital? Oh, God what if Keith had crashed his bike? His feet ran faster as panic kicked in.

~🌸~

When Keith began to stir, it was to the sound of Mulder screaming for Scully and the feeling of pancake syrup on his face. He grimaced and tried to open his eyes, remembered that one was out of commission, and settled for just his right. He blinked and groaned, starting to sit up before the pain and dizziness had him flopping back down. Reaching up, he touched a hand to his face and pulled it away, watching a thread of something clear and sticky come with it. 

_ What the fuck _ , he thought. 

Something felt weird on his head, too. Patting around up there confirmed: his hair was pulled up in some kind of clip thingy. 

_ What the actual fuck _ . 

It wasn’t until he heard his back room and Lance came out holding one of his bigger mugs that he put two and two together.

“Lance?” he asked groggily. 

Lance froze. "You're awake." He looked towards the door and back to Keith. "I didn't break in. Shiro let me in. He said it was okay." 

Keith blinked and this time forced himself to sit up with a groan he couldn’t keep in. “The fuck is on my face?” he asked thickly. 

"Woah, don't move." Lance rushed forward, putting the tea down haphazardly on the table. If some spilt over, it went unnoticed. "You need to lay down. I don't know why Shiro didn't take you to the hospital, but if he didn't, then I won't. Don't want to put anyone in crippling debt, right?” At Keith’s blank look, he waved it away. “Not the point." Lance knelt down and gently pressed on his shoulder. "Lay back down and stop touching your face. I put dandelion and parsley plaster all over. It should help with the pain and bring down the swelling.”

“I don’t need to go to a hospital for getting in a fistfight,” Keith grumbled, reaching up to touch the sticky shit on his face again. “This smells.”

"Fistfight?" Lance blinked up at him from the floor. "Didn't you get into a motorcycle accident?" 

“No…?” Keith grunted before realization seemed to dawn on him. “Wait, why are you here?”

“I told you, your brother, the cop, let me in." Lance sat up on his knees, leaning in. "It was those guys, wasn't it? Did they attack you after you went back? They did, didn't they? I should have driven you home." 

Probably too late, Keith realized the price of his groggy candor and clammed up. “Doesn’t matter. M’fine.”

"Obviously not. Look at you. Look what they did to your face. They're not going to get away with this." Lance took out a small container and dipped his fingers into it. Gingerly, he tapped it around the cuts and bruises, worrying over each one. 

Keith wrinkled his nose, even though it didn’t hurt. “They didn’t. That’s why I look like this. They’re much worse.”

The full brunt of Lance’s glare landed on Keith. "What are you saying?" 

There wasn’t much point in lying anymore, so Keith slumped down into the cushion and averted his gaze. “I wasn’t gonna let them say that shit to you and get away with it.”

"Keith," Lance accused. He slowly pulled his hand back and closed the lid. 

“What.” Keith stared firmly at a worn part of the black rug.

Lance moved to be in Keith's way. "Why did you beat them up?" 

“Because!” Keith threw out his arms, wincing at the tug of bruises somewhere under his shirt. “They’re complete dickheads, and no one ever stands up to them, and I’m not about to let them target you! You! Of all people!” He curled inwards, crossing his arms stubbornly over his chest. “I just...Jesus, Lance. You looked  _ so _ upset, and the shit he said about you...I couldn’t let it go. I couldn’t.” It came out a half-whine, but Keith was too tired and sore to care. 

"It was stupid. That was so fucking stupid of you Keith! What if something happened to you? I mean something  _ did  _ happen to you. Your face - what if -” Lance blinked and held his breath, staring at the space between them. 

“Hey.” Sitting forward, Keith reached towards Lance, curling his fingers at the last minute before they brushed his cheek. “I’m fine. I know what I’m doing. I’m sorry, okay?”

Lance let out a slow, long exhale as tears fell down his cheeks. “What if they’d had guns, or- or more friends, or came back with more friends, huh? Friends who had guns?”

Keith went for broke and thumbed one of the fat tears away, feeling sick and stupid. “Then I would’ve run or something. But they’re cowards. They won’t be messing with either of us again. Not for a good long while anyway.”

“That’s not the point. I was upset because of them, but now I’m upset because of you.” He still refused to look at Keith. “I don’t want you to be hurt because of me or for me or around me. I don’t want you to get hurt, period.” 

At that, Keith jerked his hand away like it had been scalded. He opted to sit back and grip the worn leather of the couch cushion instead, biting his lip to keep down bile. He’d thought Shiro’s disappointment was bad, but hearing that from Lance stung so much worse. “...I’m sorry.”

Lance’s breath shuddered as he exhaled, finally turning to face him. His eyes were red and puffy and he looked like a glass teetering on the edge of a counter. “Four days, Keith. It's been  _ four days _ of you ignoring my texts. After everything I thought-” A hiccup interrupted him. “I don’t know what to think. What am I supposed to think?”

Keith frowned, made all the more uncomfortable by the weird, sticky plaster on his face. “‘After everything?’ What are you talking about?” 

[[

“ _ You.  _ Kay said that all I had to do was try but obviously that didn’t work. When you walked away I thought I’d done something wrong. I mean. Obviously I did, why else would you ignore me?” He pulled back his hair in fists, eyes no longer focusing. “I’m sorry about what happened at the General store, I didn’t mean to. I don’t know what I’d do if you didn’t want to be friends anymore. I told Kay this would happen. I  _ told _ her.”

“Whoa, hey.” Despite the pain, Keith scrambled to the floor beside Lance and put his hands on Lance’s shoulders. “Lance, I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean to ignore you, I just didn’t want you to see me like this. But other than that, I have no idea what you’re referring to. What the hell about Kay? Why wouldn’t we be friends?”

Lance panted, gasping for breath. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” He rocked back and forth, shaking his head as fresh tears spilled over his lashes. “I don’t know what I did, I don’t know what I did. Don’t be mad at me, I’m sorry.”

“Hey.” Keith didn’t waste any more time hesitating. He wrapped Lance up and held him, remembering the last time this had happened. They’d been standing in front of Lance’s shop, and it had been Keith’s fault that Lance had lost it then, too. He rocked them both the way Shiro had when Keith was caught in some night terror or another and waited for Lance to calm down. “I’m not mad. I swear I’m not mad. Okay? It’s okay.”

Lance sniffled and hiccupped in his arms, clinging to him like a lifeline. After a good minute of rocking he started to relax, shoulders coming down. "I'm sorry," he mumbled again into Keith's shirt. 

“Stop apologizing. I fucked up, and I’m the one who needs to be saying it over and over, but just.” He let out a shaky breath. “Let’s just. Sit for a bit. And then we can talk. Okay?”

]]

As if sensing a stage cue, Red gave a soft  _ prrrp  _ from beside them and nudged her nose against Lance’s arm. 

"Yeah, okay." Lance didn't move from Keith's arms but he did sweep Red into his lap. She snuggled happily and stretched one paw to press into Keith's thigh. They sat there as Red purred and Lance sniffled. Eventually the hiccups subsided. Now and then Lance’s fingers would brush his as he pet Red. 

“...Better?” Keith asked softly. 

Lance nodded. “A little. I’m still mad that you ignored me.”

“And I deserve it.” Keith scratched Red behind the ear and she leaned into his touch with a loud motor of a purr. “But why did you think I was mad at you?”

“I mean, you barely said goodbye to me before disappearing for four days. What was I supposed to think?”

Keith backtracked in his mind, trying to recall anything before the rage that had whited out his vision and drove him back to the General Store with single minded purpose. He remembered Lance being upset, trying to get information out of him, and the way Lance had talked about…

Oh. Right. 

The way he’d talked about leaving.

Sighing, Keith ran a hand through his hair on instinct and winced at how greasy it felt. “Right. That.”

Well, this was going to take a while. The thought of dredging everything up again made his stomach turn, but Lance deserved an explanation and Keith wasn’t going to go another minute of hurting him if he could help it. “That...has a lot to do with what we need to talk about. But it...might take a bit. And it’s. It’s hard for me to. Ugh.” 

“I don’t have anything else to do today, except you.” Lance looked up from Red to pout at him. “So it  _ is _ something I did?”

“No,” Keith said immediately. “I mean - no. No it isn’t. It’s just. I.” He blew his breath out hard, and with it came the blurted, abrupt beginning. “I was homeless for a long time.”

Lance sat back slightly, eyes flicking around the room. “Oh, uh. That’s really shitty. I knew queer people were more likely to be homeless but that- that’s not the point. I just - sorry, I wasn’t expecting that.” He placed his hand over Keith’s. “I really suck at this kinda thing.”

“It’s fine. I’m not looking for sympathy or anything. But the short version is that I ran away from my last foster home when I was 13, and mostly lived on the streets. Then I got picked up by a cop who started to follow me around. He’d catch me any time I was about to rob something or...or whatever. And he kind of made it his personal mission to straighten me out. That’s Shiro.” 

“Mm,” Lance hummed, listening. “So you’re upset that I don’t like Shiro?”

“What?” Keith made a face, and then regretted it when the sticky, tacky plant junk made his skin tug. “No, why would you - no. He got me out of the city and took me in. Moved us down here. Put me through enough school to learn how to use the needles and how not to fuck up a business and loaned me the money to start this place. And then your grandma made it a point to get me to be friendly with everyone, and for everyone to be friendly with me and...it was like having a family for the first time, y’know?”

All the while he let his past spill out of him, Lance played with his hand. Petting the top, running his fingers over his nails, picking his fingers up and letting them fall back, it was a nice distraction. Keith flipped his hand over so that Lance could have his palm. He watched as Lance traced the creases and scares.

“This place has done a lot for me. Strangers in this town were there for me in ways no one else had ever been, and they had no reason to be, but that’s just kinda the way things are here. People look out for each other. So I guess I’m kinda protective. But then dickheads like Dempsey and Carrington come outta the woodworks and remind people why the stereotypes exist.” Keith sighed, scratching Red under the chin, refusing to look at Lance as he continued. “I don’t blame you for wanting to leave so badly.” 

“So you’re not mad about Shiro... but then what do dweebus and dumbhead have to do with...me.” Lance’s eyes searched back and forth through memories. “Because…I said...I hated it here?” he asked, slow and careful as if he were pulling the words out like a Jenga tower. “You’re not upset about what happened. You’re upset about what I said. About this place. About wanting to leave.”

It sounded so selfish and stupid, but at the end of the day, it was the truth. Keith nodded at his lap. “But, like I said. I don’t blame you. Your whole life is elsewhere and this has always been temporary for you. It just kinda...stung.” 

“It is,” Lance said matter of factly. “And this is temporary, you’re right. But I still shouldn’t have insulted you or Peach Springs. Even if it's weird, everyone has been pretty nice and Lita loves it here.” He fit their hands together, holding Keith tight. “That doesn’t mean that I think of the people here as temporary. At least, not anymore. Not now.”

Right. That was about as good as it would get. Keith swallowed around the lump of disappointment in his throat and tried to give Lance a wobbly smile. “Right. Guess at the least maybe I’ll see you whenever you come visit Mrs. F.”

“I also owe you a trip to the ocean. You could visit and I could teach you how to surf and take you to all the best vegan places. You could finally make your moves on Hunk and try to skip ahead in that line.”

The makeshift smile fell and his grip on Lance’s hand tightened. “It’s gonna hurt like hell when you leave,” he found himself whispering. 

Lance returned the squeeze, resting his head on Keith’s shoulder. “Yeah. You sure you don’t want to move to California? I bet there’s a lot more alien enthusiasts there you could talk skull shows with.”

Keith gave a weak huff of laughter, but he couldn’t say much of anything else. He was busy fighting a battle where Lance couldn’t see, blinking his eyes to force back the sting he could feel there, swallowing it down, throat working to keep everything under wraps. Lance had seen enough of his ugly side for now. The last thing he wanted to do was cry on top of it all. 

And that made him even more angry with himself - that he couldn’t just let these stupid feelings go and enjoy Lance’s company and be glad he finally had a real friend other than his own brother. Maybe he could. He could talk himself back from it in another day or two, but in that exact moment, the hurt was raw. 

“You know,” Lance said, running his thumb over Keith’s skin, “I’ll always be your friend. I know I don’t make a very good one, but, I’m yours, if you want me.”

_ No you’re not.  _ Keith wanted to shake him.  _ You’re not and you won’t be and I have never once in my life cared about this kind of thing before you and that makes it so much worse.  _ Instead, he cleared his throat, hoping they could both ignore how watery his voice sounded. “Say something bad about yourself again and I’m gonna make you drink milk.”

Lance made a noise somewhere between a squeal and a gasp as he sat back. He opened his mouth, hot indignation writ across his face, and clicked it shut. Before Keith could register what was happening, Lance pulled him into a hug, sticky face-goo and all. “Oh, Keith.”

Keith lost the battle then, and a few tears slipped out to wet Lance’s shirt right along with the plaster. He was so much further gone than he’d ever realized, and it was really fucking terrifying. The best he could do was mumble into Lance’s shoulder, repeating the only thing he could think about. “It’s gonna hurt like hell.”

“I know,” Lance whispered, rubbing his back and letting him fall apart. He shifted them until Keith was practically cradled in his arms. “I don’t know how to fix it.”

He couldn’t, and that was just the way it was, so Keith didn’t bother saying anything. It only took a few more minutes of swallowing and fighting to get himself back under control, but he didn’t feel inclined to move.

“Friends again?” Lance asked in his ear, fingers gently untangling his hair.

Keith sighed into the touch. It wasn’t much and it wasn’t forever, but damned if he wasn’t going to enjoy it while he could. “Never a point where we weren’t, Flower Boy.” 

Lance buried his face into his hair, lips pressing against the top of his head as he said, “Good.”

“Yeah,” Keith agreed. “...Good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sail: this chapter was very hard to edit and very hard to write, especially lance's meltdown. I have no idea if it translated but I kept going into meltdown headspace writing it so that made it really rough. i AM finally excited to show off [Pretzellus'](https://twitter.com/jade_smania) art which has been mine and autumn's pfp for a while now and one of my all-time favorite klance pictures, also because of the image of Keith singing this song, its the only country song that is now allowed on my playlist
> 
> Autumn: So this is the part of the story where we start to address all the best and worst parts of the South. And I mean, this is true for anywhere you live, right? The bad and the good? But I feel like the South has a particularly nasty past, so I wanted to make something clear: I (and I say 'I' specifically because Sail is West Coast) am in no way defending or apologizing for anything related to the problematic, shitty, horrific history of the American South. There IS no way to defend it. Period. End of story. What I will say is that the sort of small-town mentality and sense of community was, however, both infuriating and invaluable growing up, and that feeling of having deep roots is something I cherish in particular. I just didn't want anyone to walk away feeling like all the dark, awful parts were being glossed over. Hope you read safely and enjoy the soft bits. And a HUGE thank you, once again, to Pretzellus for the awesome art. (Now you know where our Twitter avatars come from!)
> 
> check out our sweet pfp on twitter [Autumn Ignited](https://twitter.com/AutumnIgnited) and [SailUnchartedWaters](https://twitter.com/SailUnchartd)
> 
> Early access to chapters [are here](https://linktr.ee/sailunchartedwaters)
> 
> be sure to tell [Pretzellus](https://instagram.com/pretzellus?igshid=re14hslcreyb) how much you enjoyed the art <3


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> follow [Autumn Ignited](https://twitter.com/AutumnIgnited) for snakes and cowboy mugs, follow [SailUnchartedWaters](https://twitter.com/SailUnchartd) for bursts of adhd posting followed by silence for days
> 
> Early access to chapters [are here](https://linktr.ee/sailunchartedwaters)

~🌸~

Lance leaned against his broom. God, he hated sweeping. He hated sweeping and he hated cloudy days. The shop looked so much gloomier without the sun. To add shit to his crap pile, it was Wednesday, which meant all his restock came in. If there was one thing he hated more than sweeping, it was restocking. 

He glanced longingly across the street. Keith had promised to help him today as soon as he finished with his last appointment. Lance bounced in place, using the broom to balance. “Hurry up,” he whined. 

They’d eased back into a normal friendship since their fight, but there hadn’t been another kiss - cheek, hand, or otherwise. Not even talk of kissing. Lance had backed off with his flirting almost completely - well, as much as he could. It was hard not to flirt when Keith was exactly his type and had already kissed him.  _ Twice. _ Lance attacked the floor at that thought, trying to sweep it from his head along with the soil.

_ No, _ he scolded himself,  _ we talked about this. We’re friends and that's okay. _

“But I don’t wanna just be friends,” he whined to his broom. 

After their talk, Keith was a little more relaxed, even a little happier. He smiled and laughed more easily and that was  _ nice.  _ Lance was  _ happy  _ about that. The only problem was, instead of the surprised look that would normally follow his outbursts, Keith’s eyes would grow distant and his smile would turn sad. Which only made Lance want to kiss him more, if only to chase the storm away from those eyes.

Obviously it was because Lance was still planning on moving back - or not, maybe he was being too self-centered. Keith had a life outside of him; something else could just as easily be bothering him. Except, when he was laughing at Stella or Sonny or Shiro, that faraway look didn’t happen. 

There was nothing he could do about it, though. His family was in California and his friends and his life and his dreams and goals. But returning to all of that would mean leaving Keith. There’d be no more cherry shakes or secret vegan food or his own personal river-beach… Lance shook his head. The fact was that Keith didn’t want to start anything with him if he was going back, and Lance wasn’t going to give up his life for a guy, no matter how hot.

“A gloomy sky for gloomy thoughts,” he said with a sigh, looking over at Keith’s shop again. It had become such a habit lately that he’d do it even when Keith was standing next to him. There was no point in thinking about it, nothing would change the fact that all of this was temporary. “Back to work. You still have boxes to unload, with or without help.”

~🌸~

When Keith did let himself in the shop a few hours later, he was juggling both Red and armfuls of chip bags, as well as a 6 pack of Mountain Dew. “Hey, Lance? You still got power, right?” he called.

“Yeah, of course.” Lance popped up from behind a pile of boxes. “Should I not?” Thank fuck Keith was here. He’d only finished the one box and there were twenty-seven more to go.

Keith let Red go and she immediately scampered over to Lance for pets. He’d taken to bringing her whenever he visited, given the way she destroyed the store when he left her alone for too long. She was loud, but she never knocked anything over, and as long as she got occasional pets and treats, she was equally at home in Nemo’s Garden as she was in Area 51.

Keith was also quite at home in Lance’s store these days, given the familiarity with which he stashed his chips. Lance shook his head as the pile of half-finished chips under the register grew by four bags. Unscrewing a soda, Keith downed about a third of it before stifling a belch behind his fist. 

“Good, I was just checking. It’s out a couple blocks down. Where do you want me to start?” 

Lance whined and flumped face first onto a box. “By putting me out of my misery.” 

“Nice try, princess.” Keith pulled the box out from under him. “Come on, the sooner we get this done the sooner we can watch the movie, and it’s my turn to pick.” 

“Ugh,” Lance whined again, but grabbed the iPad dutifully. “Please tell me we’re not starting with succulents.” 

“Yeah,” Keith agreed, as if he knew shit about plants. “That’d be the worst.” 

With Keith’s help, they were able to knock out all the boxes in a little under two hours. Every bag of soil, tank filter, and cactus was entered into the system and displayed neatly in the store. Lance flopped back on the counter like a starfish, his head hanging off the edge. “We did it. I never want to see another plant-related object for the rest of my life.”

“Well, we could trade. You could scrawl hearts on strangers’ hairy asses, and I could sell the posies.” 

“I’d be really good at that. I’ve been practicing hearts since elementary school.” Lance turned his head so he could see Keith, face red from being upside down. “Let me prove it. I can start with you.”

“Not on your life,” Keith said sweetly, polishing off his second soda. “But, we’re not  _ quite  _ done y’know. We missed something.” 

“What did we miss?” Lance asked, not really paying attention. He was thinking about whether all that soda made Keith’s mouth sticky sweet. If only he’d been able to taste Keith at the General Store, then it wouldn't hurt so bad not knowing. He wouldn’t have to daydream about licking the syrup from his lips.

Which is how he didn’t see the attack coming until Keith had plastered a big SKU sticker right across his forehead. When he looked up in indignation, Keith smirked and twirled the SKU gun like a cowboy and blew on it. “Just marking down the discount merchandise.” 

Lance sat up with an offended squeak. He tried to look up at his own forehead, making his nose wrinkle and his eyes go crossed. “What the hell, Keith.” He ripped the sticker off. “Ninety-nine cents?! Rude! I’m worth at least  _ double _ the roses.”

“One-eighty, max.” Keith grinned and stamped Lance’s arm, jumping back to get out of range. 

“Stop that.” Lance frowned down at the sticker then up at Keith’s smiling face. “Give it.” Hopping off the counter, he lunged for the price gun.

Keith shrugged and jogged backwards behind a display of recently unpacked air ferns in glass terrariums. “Make me.” 

“Oh, you bet I’m going to make you. I’m going to make you so hard, you won’t know what hit you.” Lance went the opposite direction around the display, trying to cut him off.

Keith ducked under the table and ran past the counter, placing himself behind rows of spiny baby cacti in earthenware pots. “Try it, and I’ll throw cactuses at you.” 

“You break it, you buy it.” Screw this, it was time to play dirty. Literally. Lance veered and skidded to a halt next to the bags of soil. He grabbed a fistful of dirt, grinning at Keith. “Here, Keith-y Keith-y Keith-y.” 

Keith spun on his heel and Lance laughed open-mouthed as he set chase. The dirt was held threateningly above his head as it sprinkled loose perlite on his swept floors. Then, in a grave miscalculation, Keith cornered himself by the window. 

Lance threw the potting soil as he cackled, “This is for making me ninety-nine cents!” It scattered in a dry spray not at all like the mud ball he’d imagined it being. Particles flew into his mouth and he sputtered. 

Keith lost it then, and started laughing - cautiously, behind the collar of his t-shirt, so as not to suffer the same fate. 

“That’s nasty,” Lance wheezed between fits of coughing. 

“Joke’s on you, then, cuz the more dirt you throw at me, the more cleaning you have to do.” Keith grinned, triumphantly shoving his hands in his pockets and looking insufferably pleased.

“ _ Keith _ ,” Lance whined, “This is gross. I ate dirt, what if there’s - oh God, it crunched. My teeth, ew, it  _ crunched in my teeth _ .”

Keith had lined up an order card to fling like a shuriken, cruelly immune to Lance’s distress, when a crack of thunder shook the store. Plants rattled in their trays and shelves clunked against the wall. Lance yelped at the same time Red yowled and jumped from the counter, streaking in a black blur to hide under a display. 

“Whoa.” Keith put the cards back and crossed over to the window, peering outside. “Looks like it got a lot worse while we were working. Check the weather, would you?” 

Lance lowered his hands from his ears slowly. “Are we dead?” He walked over, but stopped a ways away from the window and stood on his tippy toes.

Keith glanced back at him, one eyebrow raised. “Not a lot of storms in Long Beach?” 

“Plenty. That’s why I have a healthy sense of self preservation.”

“Doubt it’s gonna bust the windows. Seems like it might just be a-” Keith was cut off by a bright flash of light and another crack of thunder. He dug his phone from his pants and tapped on it, frowning. “Hm. Looks like it got upgraded. We got a tropical storm warning. Named ‘Kenneth,’ if you’re curious.” 

“Great, awesome.” Lance was hunched over, holding his head. “How about we get away from the window and the-” He was cut off by a flash so bright that it blinded him. The boom was almost instantaneous. He screamed and scrambled forward, clinging onto the back of Keith’s shirt and using him as a shield. 

“Hey,” Keith soothed, turning around and raising an arm so Lance could press against him. “Just a little noise and some water. You wanna go across the street? I’ve got that wall between the back and the windows. Or you want to head home and we can raincheck the movie?” He made a face. “Uh. No pun intended.” 

"Out there, in that?" Lance peeked around Keith to the sheets of rain that were pouring sideways down the street. "No thanks. What if we're struck by lightning?" 

“We won’t be. Plenty of streetlamps and stuff the lightning would rather strike than you, and even then, the likelihood of that is slim to none.” Keith bumped him with his hip. “‘Sides, you know you left that weird dip stuff Sonny sent home with you in  _ my  _ fridge, so the whole place smells like wet logs when I open the door.” 

Lance looked back at Red huddled and hissing under the shelf. He bit his lip, not loosening his grip on Keith, and nodded slowly. It was true that the only thing he had was a table and chairs, so unless they wanted to make a couch out of soil, Keith's place was better. 

"Do it for the mushroom hummus," Lance whispered to himself. Looking up at Keith from his half-crouch, he nodded. "Fine, but if I die, it's your fault and you'll have to run two shops." 

“Hell no.” Keith ruffled Lance’s hair before abandoning him to go crawl on his belly under the display where his cat was doing her best to meld into the shadows. He dragged her out with a few fresh scratches to show for the trouble before tugging at the flannel tied at his waist to bundle her up. “Here, take the critter. I’ll lock up for you.” 

“ _ Critter _ . Sometimes the things you say...” Lance mumbled as he took the spitting bundle, its claws safely wrapped in flannel. "I really don't like this." 

“It’ll be fine.” Keith locked up and held his jacket over them as they bravely stepped out of the store. Lance squeezed Red to his chest. 

"On the count of three, run." Keith nudged Lance’s foot with the toe of his boot to keep his attention while he counted. "One, two,  _ three! _ " 

Lance squeezed his eyes shut against the rain whipping across his face. The sprint should've been short, but the wind, rain, and startling cracks of thunder turned it into a marathon. Lance made it to the door a few seconds ahead of Keith, badgering him to move faster as Keith juggled his corner of the jacket and the chips to get to his keys.

They burst through the door, all three soaking wet as lightning flashed behind them. Red leapt from her flannel prison the moment Lance’s arms loosened. With an indigent meow, she immediately turned to clean her fur. 

Lance’s teeth chattered around his words, “N-n-never ag-g-gain.” The rain out here was way colder than the rare showers of sunny California. “F-fuck t-t-that shit.”

“Heh.” Keith lifted his t-shirt up to wipe the water from his face, but it was equally soaked. “Ugh. Okay. Let me grab some extra clothes. There’s a space heater behind the couch if you wanna plug that in.” He stripped his soaked shirt as he walked, tossing it haphazardly on the ground. 

Lance tried not to look. He really did. He didn’t have the  _ right _ to look. That right should be reserved for a boyfriend, not a friend-friend, but his eyes were drawn to Keith’s back like a moth to flame. “Woah,” he whispered under his breath.

Across the entire pale expanse of Keith’s back and shoulder blades was a set of exquisitely detailed angel wings - or bird wings, whatever, not the point. The point was that each individual feather looked unique, as if Keith could flex his shoulders and take off if he wanted to. There were even a few stray feathers tattooed here and there, as if he had just ruffled his wings and brought them back to rest. 

It felt like he could reach out and pet them. Lance’s fingers twitched to do just that. Tearing his eyes away, he balled his fist and walked determinedly to the couch. _ Friends don’t just feel each other up _ , he told himself sternly. 

The space heater was indeed behind the couch, and with a bit of effort, he was able to wriggle it out. It was old and dusty and looked like it was one winter away from a fire hazard. Lance plugged it in, too chilled to care. If Keith didn’t want a fire, he should buy a new one. It clicked and whirred to life, the fan chugging along desperately as the wires glowed red. He plunked down in front of it, the smell of burning dust filling his nose.

When Keith returned, he was wearing a hoodie that was probably once black but had faded to charcoal grey. He was rubbing at his hair with one corner of a hand-towel, which he offered to Lance. Lance took it gratefully and dried off his neck and arms. 

“Here, these should fit.” Keith tossed a long-sleeved shirt at Lance that was so well-loved and soft it was starting to go threadbare around the collar. 

“Thanks.” Lance caught it and hesitated. Keith’d had no qualms about ditching his wet clothes in front of Lance, so it shouldn’t be a big deal, right? He fingered the hem of his soaking shirt. 

_ Don’t be stupid, it’s fine _ , he scolded himself.  _ C’mon, like a Band-Aid. _ He whipped his shirt up and over his head, letting it smack wetly to the floor. The heater warmed his chest and it was actually quite nice to be bare skinned in front of it.

Keith held out his hand for Lance’s shirt, averting his eyes politely. “I’ll hang it up to dry.” 

Lance handed it over and wiped his hand on his equally wet pants. It didn’t help. He tugged the well-worn shirt on, and to his secret delight, it smelled strongly of Keith’s woodsy cologne. Movie night might’ve been ruined, but there were definite upsides to getting rained on. “Do you have sweats? I hate wet jeans and they take forever to dry.” 

“Yep. Half my clothes are here anyway.” 

Keith disappeared into the back room again, re-emerging with two pairs of soft, worn pajama pants and two sets of surprisingly cutesy chenille socks. He held them out to Lance before snapping his hand back and glaring. 

“You only get to enjoy the warm socks if you promise not to give me shit for the existence of the warm socks. Deal?” 

“Sure? I wear booty shorts; what do I care about socks. Just hurry up; I’m dying.”

Keith rolled his eyes. “Such a fucking drama queen.” The socks hit Lance square in the face as another crackle of thunder shook the glass in the windows. 

Lance jumped and looked around. Why did thunder have to be so loud? “Are storms here always this angry?”

Keith shrugged. “They’ll actually get worse as it warms up. We get hurricanes sometimes.” 

“My body isn’t ready; neither is my heart.” Lance sighed and stood, holding up the pants. “I’m going to change in the bathroom. Hope you don’t mind if I go commando in these.”

“Please,” Keith said, then coughed and hurriedly continued, “I mean, please, be my guest, feel free, whatever, they’re pants.” 

Lance smirked and let himself have that one. He could only hold back his flirting so many times before he exploded. “If you like my bare ass in your pants that much, I can wear all of them for you.”

Keith threw a pillow at him. 

By the time he was done, Keith had made the little sitting area downright cozy. There was a cinnamon-y, generic-brand candle burning on the squat table next to a battery-operated Hot Shot he’d picked up for when Lance wanted tea and was too lazy to go back across the street. He looked up from fiddling with the batteries and grinned. 

“Well look at you, edge lord. I don’t think I’ve seen you in black before.” 

“Do I pull it off?” Lance spun in a circle. The shirt was baggy, so the sleeves fit comfortably, but the pants were a little high water. Keith was probably shorter than he looked without those big boots he always wore. 

Keith chuckled. “Not when you do a little twirl to show it off.” 

“I think the twirl made it better.” Lance grinned at him and flopped down on the floor, leaning against the couch. “You know, on the bright side, this means we don’t have to watch your shitty alien movie.”

“Tonight,” Keith corrected. “This does not mean my turn gets skipped.”

"Fine.” Lance swiveled his head to look at Keith in the candlelight. "Then, whatcha wanna do- wait, you got any booze?" 

“ _ Do I have booze _ . It’s a tattoo parlor, what do you think I drink, La Croix?” 

“I like La Croix.”

Keith made a dismissive sound at that admission and disappeared once more into the back room, returning with a cardboard box full of various half-drunk liquor bottles.

At the sight of them, Lance knew exactly what they should do without electricity. "Let's play a game. You know, like Truth or Dare, Twenty Questions, uh, Simon Says? Now I'm just making shit up." 

“Never played any of ‘em, so it’s up to you.” What was left of a small handle of Jack disappeared into Keith’s coffee mug. 

"You've never played Simon Says? Haven't you ever been a kid, or were you born fully formed with a motorcycle jacket in your hand?"

Keith gave him a flat look. “Single parent, only child, orphan, problem child, homeless. Not a lot of opportunities in that timeline. But I know how it works, at least. Not sure if that’s really a drunk-two-person kinda game, though.” 

Lance cringed, tucking into himself. Stupid mouth, always talking without thinking. "Sorry, I didn't mean to, y'know - it's okay, it's not very fun in the first place." 

“Hey, I’m not mad.” Keith gave him a little smile and shook his empty bottle pointedly. “Now pick something so this doesn’t go to waste.”

Sometimes Keith was too nice. Lance deserved at least a small reprimand for shoving his past in his face without thinking, but all he got for the misstep was that cute, crooked smile. With a sigh, Lance tried to steer the mood back to something fun and lighthearted before it derailed entirely. "Right, uh… How about Two Truths and a Lie? More fun than Twenty Questions and we get drunk faster. Say three things, two are true, one has to be a lie. If you don't guess right, you have to drink." 

“Alright.” Keith took a sip. “You go first.”

Lance twisted open his rum. “I’m eighteen, I secretly hate being vegan, and my first pet was a Tamagotchi that I kept alive for three years.”

Keith pursed his lips. “You gotta be older than 18. I call that.” 

“With this face? Rude.” Lance stuck out his tongue. “I thought I might get away with it since most people start college at eighteen. Okay, your turn.”

Keith chuckled, then paused. “Wait, so how old are you?”

“I thought people from the South were polite. You’re just going to walk in here and demand my age?”

“‘Demand’ is a strong word, but, yeah. I’ll be 23 in October, how’s that.” 

“I’mtwenty,” Lance mumbled, clutching the rum close to his chest.

Keith’s grin was slow to dawn. “...Aaaww,” he cooed. “Look at you, hardened little criminal. An’ here I promised Shiro I’d never break the law again, damn.” 

“Look. In Cuba, sixteen is an adult, so my grandparents have been letting me drink since high school. Plus, if it makes Shiro feel better, I’m very, nearly twenty-one. July is right around the corner and then I’m perfectly legal.”

“Well, happy early birthday, then,” Keith said easily, raising his mug with a smirk. “Guess the babyface isn’t all that misleading.” 

“Your snark is uncalled for. Hurry up, it’s your turn.”

Keith hummed thoughtfully before his brow wrinkled and he looked at Lance sidelong. “Wait, so you hate being vegan?”

"Maybe hate isn’t the right word." Lance took a long sip and hissed. "God, that's strong."

When nothing else seemed forthcoming, Keith prompted, “Okay? Wanna elaborate on that?”

"Right, uh, so don't tell Hunk, but sometimes being vegan is hard and I wish I could just not care, y'know? I just wish food was ethical so that I didn't have to restrict myself to the one vegan dish on the menu. That is,  _ if  _ there's a vegan option." Lance sighed. "It's not fair that I have to work so hard when slaughterhouses treat both animals and people like shit." 

“So like,” Keith repeated slowly. “It’s more that you hate that you  _ have  _ to be vegan because shit’s the way it is. Right?”

"Yeah. I want the world to be fair and I hate that it isn't." 

“Makes sense.” Keith shrugged and took a long swallow from his mug.

“Hey, that’s cheating. You can’t drink willy-nilly.”

“S’my shop and my booze, I can do whatever I want.” He took another sip to make his point. “Not like I’m gonna run out of booze or soda any time soon. Now...uh...okay. I can play three instruments, I was born on Halloween, and my favorite animal’s a hippo.” 

“You look like someone born on Halloween and someone weird enough to love hippos, so I’m going to say you only play one or two instruments.”

Keith scoffed. “‘Look like someone born on Halloween,’ what the hell does that mean?’”

“You wear a lot of black. You’re like Jack Skellington, but with emo hair and tattoos.”

“Wow.” That got him A Look. “Well, joke’s on you, then. I can play guitar, drums, and the banjo.”

“That's...actually really cool. The only thing I can play is my armpit.” Lance took a long swig from the bottle. 

“I’m not touching that one.” Keith shook his head, but his smirk was triumphant. “Your turn, loser.” He got up to fish another candle from a cabinet beside the mini-fridge and when he resettled, it was next to Lance on the floor with their backs braced against the couch. 

“You didn’t tell me your birthday.”

Keith made a face at the lighter as it stubbornly refused to ignite until the sixth strike. “October 23rd, stop stalling.”

“I’m not stalling. Sheesh.” Lance looked up at the ceiling to think better, listening to the rain hissing against the old roof. “I own an evening gown, I’ve eaten crickets, and I have a tattoo.”

Keith paused, considering all of those individually. Finally, with caution, he said, “No way you’d mark your perfect skin with a tattoo. That’s gotta be it.” 

“You think it’s perfect?” Lance wiggled his eyebrows, leaning closer to Keith, who grumbled and pushed at his shoulder. “Well, you’re wrong, so drink.”

The mug was halfway to Keith’s lips before realization dawned and he set it down with enough force to rattle the alcohol and send the candle flames shivering. “You  _ do _ have a tattoo? What the fuck, where?”

“Uh, actually, on second thought, I eat bugs, like, all the time. You win. New game.” Shit, why’d he have to go and bring up his dumb drunk tattoo? Pidge was going to pay double for this. It was all her fault in the first place. 

Now Keith looked like he’d won the fucking lottery. “What color’s your evening gown, princess?” 

“The same color as your fluffy socks, haystack.”

“S’a good shade for you.” Keith nodded. “Now where the hell is your tattoo? And what is it?” 

“Nope. I’m not playing this game anymore. Remember? I eat bugs. Eat bugs and wear dresses. That’s me.” Lance wiggled away, which made the rum splash out of the bottle. He licked it off his hand and put his mouth over the top to keep from making a mess.

“No way.” Keith fixed him with a serious, threatening gaze. “You tell me right now, or I swear I’ll pull out the big guns, and don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

“Noticed what?” Lance asked around the head of the bottle, voice echoing into the glass. He used one hand to scoot backwards along the couch, keeping away from Keith’s gaze.

Keith followed him in relentless pursuit. “You’re ticklish as  _ fuck _ .” 

Lance made a popping noise as he pulled off the bottle. “That’s not fair. Cheating! You’re a cheater. Everyone!” he called out to the empty shop, “He’s cheating!”

Unfortunately, there was no one to come to his rescue as Keith half-launched himself, attacking Lance’s sides under the baggy shirt. Red came bounding in to see what was making all the noise, became unimpressed, and jumped up to the couch to witness Lance’s undoing. 

Lance's biggest concern was to not spill the rum. His second biggest concern was to stay on his back, but that made it very hard to get away. He did his best to wriggle across the floor inch by inch. The good news was that every time he moved away, the shirt went down; the bad news was that Keith was a monster who would just push it up again. 

Keith got right under his armpits and tickled his ribs. Lance squealed. "Mercy!" he gasped through his laughter. "I give, you win!" 

Keith paused, his face the picture of the cat that got the cream. “I’m listening.”

Lance lay there with his shirt hiked all the way to his chin. Exposed and panting, he did his best to not think about their positions. "Ugh, this is so embarrassing," he complained. He could still feel the shadow of Keith's fingers moving along his sides. "You can't laugh." 

Reaching forward, Keith brushed a lock of hair from Lance’s forehead and looked down into his eyes. “Believe me, I’m not laughing.”

Lance’s heart pounded in his ears as he swallowed. Keith was really making this whole ‘let’s just be friends’ thing fucking impossible. “It's-” He cleared his throat, swallowing again. “-stupid. You’re going to think I’m as bad as everyone else. I mean, I  _ am _ . You might as well put me up there with all the people you’ve made fun of.”

And then, because he wasn’t being cruel enough, Keith dragged the pads of his fingers down Lance’s cheek. “If you really don’t want to show me, just say no, and we’ll drop it.” The fingers continued downward, just grazing his lips before Keith pulled his hand away and said, in all sincerity, “I would never make fun of you. I might yank your chain a little, but I will never make fun of you.”

Fuck him. It wasn’t fair that he was being so soft, it made Lance want to spill anything and everything. “Dolphins,” he whispered. “In the shape of a heart.” He did his best not to chase Keith’s hands. He wasn’t quite as successful as he hoped he’d be, but maybe Keith didn’t notice the way his hand tried to find Keith’s. “It’s not a good tattoo. Hunk says they look like blue pigs." 

At that, Keith seemed to realize what he’d been doing and sat back. His chuckle sounded thin, all breath and no real warmth as he raised one knee and rested his arm across it. There it was, the look that Lance had grown to dread. “Wow. That’s about...the most you thing I could have imagined.” 

He was instantly cold, and Lance wasn’t sure if it was the way Keith was smiling or the lack of body heat. “I didn’t realize I was a blue pig to you,” Lance said, trying to cover his disappointment with a laugh. Sitting up, he pulled his shirt down quickly so Keith’s prying eyes couldn’t see the monstrosity on his back.

“Hush, no you’re not.” Keith was instantly softened, curious but gentle when he asked, “Can I see?” 

Lance had worked so hard to make sure Keith never saw it and now he was asking all soft and sweet with his bangs falling in his eyes and  _ ugh _ . Half the time he forgot it was there and didn't worry about it. But Keith not only  _ had  _ beautiful tattoos, he  _ drew _ them. He was an actual, real-life tattoo artist who arted tattoos. Lance squeezed his eyes shut. "A trade, then." 

“Okay?”

"Let me see your wings and I'll show you my pig-phins." 

Keith’s eyebrows pinched together. “What? How did you...oh.” He colored a bit across his cheeks but didn’t hesitate as he shucked his shirt and turned for Lance’s candlelight perusal. 

_ Oh.  _ Keith's bare back was so close. He swallowed. "Does it have a story?" Lance ran a tentative finger down one of the loose feathers. 

“Freedom,” Keith said simply. “To never let anything hold me back. Shiro took me to get it when I got my license, which was also the same day as three years clean.” The wings rippled when he shivered at Lance’s touch, goosebumps raising along his spine. 

"Alcohol?" Lance's voice was barely above a whisper. Keith's skin was so warm, and he wasn't pulling away; he wanted to be greedy. Spreading his fingers across the feathers, he dragged his whole hand down the bumps of Keith’s spine. 

“Drugs.” Keith sounded winded. 

Leaning forward, Lance wrapped his hand around Keith's waist and rested his head on his shoulder. "I can't really understand what that’s like, I'm sorry." 

“I’m -” Keith’s breath hitched at Lance’s touch before he hesitantly covered Lance’s hand with his own. “I’m glad you don’t. No one should.”

“It might sound shallow coming from me, but I think it's amazing. Amazing that you put yourself back on your feet and that you stayed clean and that someone like you wants-" Lance stopped himself before he said ‘ _ me _ .’ "-to be friends." 

Keith looked thoroughly taken aback by that, but a sweet, genuine smile broke through the rosy haze of his blush to crinkle the corners of his eyes. “That means a lot. More than you know. Thanks, Lance.”

Lance hummed in return and interlaced their fingers together. “Of course. No one else I’d want to be caught in a storm with.”

“Well...ditto. Now you gonna show me, or not? I’m not gonna laugh,” Keith insisted. 

Reluctantly, Lance pulled away, dragging his hand across Keith’s skin until the last possible second. “I guess it’s only fair.” He undid the drawstring and sat up on his knees. Turning around, he let the pants fall to just under his hips and held them there. "You'll have to lift up my shirt." 

Keith’s warm hands pushed up his shirt and held him by his hips. One thumb dipped into the dimple where one of the dolphins was jumping to form half the heart. 

“You know,” Keith said, soft and thoughtful. “I can turn this into something else, if you like. If you’re not happy with it.” 

That...wasn’t what he’d expected. Keith had said he wasn’t going to laugh, but a part of Lance didn’t trust that. At the very least, he’d expected him to say how shitty it was or to make a comment about tramp stamps. To have his drunken mistake fixed sounded amazing. “Honestly, I hate it. What would you put there instead?”

“Hmm.” Keith studied the shape, brushing his thumb across the whole of it. “I got a couple ideas I can sketch out for you.” 

Lance looked at him over his shoulder. “I’d like that. It’d be nice to be sea-pig free.”

Keith let his shirt drop with a chuckle. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“I’m actually glad the storm happened.” Tying his pants back up, Lance grabbed his abandoned bottle. “If it hadn’t, we would’ve watched a dumb alien movie and I never would’ve gotten to know about your wings.”

“And I would never have learned what a whiny brat you can be when someone tries to introduce you to quality cinema.” Keith pushed off the floor and settled back into the couch with his feet tucked under him, smirking. “And while we’re listing new things we learned...what’ll it take to see you in an evening gown?” His accent was thickening, slurring together into a slower drawl as the alcohol warmed his throat and cheeks. 

As Keith’s words slowed, Lance’s heart sped up. He knew exactly what kind of bargain he wanted to make and it wasn’t, like, a date. He was asking Keith  _ as a friend _ . “If I show you, you have to come to my flower crown event.”

Keith blinked. Blinked harder, squeezing his eyes shut and opening them blearily, as if that had been the root of his lack of comprehension. “Your what now.”

Lance crawled up on the couch, settling in next to Keith. “My flower crown event. I’m going to teach people how to make their own flower crowns. But, I’m worried no one will show up. So. You have to promise to come, then I’ll at least have one person there.”

“Dunno if I can pull it off, given how  _ edgy _ I apparently am, but sure.” 

“It’s a deal then,” said, pulling out his phone and scrolling through the gallery. “I’ll order some black flowers just for you and your edgy self.” 

Lance tilted his head in question when Keith gently lowered his phone.

“Why don’t you pick some out that you think I’d like? I kinda enjoy puzzling it out whenever you stick a flower in my door.” His head listed to the side and his smile was as slow and mellifluous as his voice. “Just like I’m gonna try and design you a tattoo that’ll suit’cha properly.” 

“Oh,” Lance breathed the word as he stared into Keith’s eyes. The familiar twisting in his stomach knotted itself back up. His toes curled as he leaned forward. “Yeah. I can do that. I’ll surprise you.”

“You always do,” Keith said lazily. 

Lance swallowed.  _ Fuck it. _ He didn’t care if he was overstepping unspoken boundaries. They were both drunk and Keith looked soft. Scooting closer, he pressed their shoulders together and held up his phone so Keith could see. “Do you at least like it? When I do?” 

“Always,” Keith confirmed, making no move to pull away. “Keeps me on my toes.”

Scrolling through his phone, Lance let his head rest stiffly against Keith. Every muscle was ridged with the fear of rejection. He was definitely crossing a line, but it was one he desperately wanted to erase. “Even the time I accused you of trying to stab me?” 

“...It's funny in retrospect.” 

"You're funny in retrospect," Lance grumbled, but slung a leg over Keith's lap and relaxed a fraction of an inch. His phone said it was getting late, and if Keith saw, he might kick him out. If Lance could keep him distracted then- “Ah-ha!” He tapped the picture and handed it to Keith. “I did drag at a club for a while. I didn’t get famous or anything, but it was fun. You can scroll if you want, there’s a couple. Once you hit beach selfies, that’s the end.”

Keith took him up on it, scrolling through the pictures languidly, his smile far away and his eyes glazed. “You remind me of...oh, what’s the name of the damn thing… ‘And now as the night was senescent and star dials pointed to morn, as the star dials hinted of morn, at the end of our path a liquescent and nebulous luster was born, out of which a miraculous crescent arose with a duplicate horn; Astarte’s bediamonded crescent distinct with its duplicate horn.’ Y’know, the star goddess.” 

“No, actually, I don’t know. I mean that was my theme, goddess of the night or something.” Lance waved his explanation away and glanced up from his spot against Keith's chest. “What was that poem-thing you just said?” 

Catching his eyes with the same lazy, cocky smile, Keith gave his eyebrows a drunken little wiggle. “Not bad for the kid who dropped out of school and lived under a bridge, huh?” 

Lance couldn’t breathe. Someone stole all the air from his lungs and left him with nothing but butterflies clogging his chest. “Yeah. Not bad.”  _ Hot _ was more like it. “Say that about me again.”

Keith leaned in, his voice all whiskey and ashes as he went on. “‘Come up in despite of the Lion to shine on us with his bright eyes - come up through the lair of the Lion with love in his luminous eyes.’ Like that?” 

“Yeah. Like that.” It wasn’t fair. Lance wet his lips, trying to taste the whiskey from Keith’s breath.

“Well.” Keith’s lips quirked up at the corners. “Pretty on-brand, I guess, according to you. It’s Poe.” 

“Cool.” Lance’s brain was still replaying snippets of Keith’s recitation over and over on a loop. The world melted away until it was only Keith. “You’re cool.”

Keith chuckled. “Yeah,” he agreed, “you too.” 

Lance found the courage to take his phone back without making a complete fool out of himself by trying to touch Keith. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” Keith was definitely on the other side of tipsy, evidenced by the way his thumb slid useless over his phone screen twice before it unlocked. “Holy shit, it’s late.”

Lance’s heart dropped. “Yeah, it is.” He stuffed his phone in his pocket and glanced at the door. “I guess I should be going, the rain stopped.”

“Hey. Uh. Did you wanna...stay?”

“Here? With you?” Lance wasn’t sure if he was happy or scared. Did Keith even know what he was asking? “Like, here- _ here?” _

Keith glanced around. “Yeah? I sleep in my shop like...half the week at least.”

Lance had meant the couch, but he didn’t want to remind Keith that they technically shouldn’t sleep together. Keith might get all southern gentlemen on him and build a bed out of trees that he chopped himself. All he could do was nod and wait to see what decision Keith made. If he told him to sleep on the floor, then Lance would.

When Lance didn’t move, Keith held his arm up in invitation. “Grab the blanket, would’ja.” 

Lance didn’t need to be told twice. “This one?” He held up the fuzzy thing draped over the back of the couch.

“Uh huh. M’favorite. S’from Point Pleasant.” Keith stifled a yawn behind his hand and motioned Lance in. 

Keith’s chest was firm under his cheek and Lance fit perfectly in his arms. He yawned and wrapped his legs around Keith’s to keep them from hanging off the end. “Is that a place I should know?”

“Eventually,” Keith said, sleepy and probably unintentionally cryptic. “Once we watch a few more movies.”

Lance couldn’t even bring himself to care about all the nights ahead of him watching B rated aliens. Not if there was a chance that he could fall asleep like this. Not if he got to hear Keith’s sleepy drawl and feel it puff against the top of his head. He’d watch all the shitty movies in the world for  _ this. _ “Okay. Can’t wait.” He fingered Keith’s sweatshirt and breathed in the laundry soap and winter wood that was Keith. “G’night.”

“Night night, Flower boy.”

Lance let his eyes flutter shut as he sighed, cheek pressed against Keith’s heart. 

_ This is enough _ , he told himself. 

It had to be. 

~🌸~

As it turned out, it rained a lot in spring. Like.  _ A lot. _ More than Lance had the patience for. It made visiting the river nearly impossible, given that the waterline had risen almost three inches and the current churned the whole thing into a frothy, brown mess. His California skin ached for sunshine under the heavy Virginia sky, and all that energy had nowhere to go. Mostly he channeled it into planning his flower crown workshop, but there was only so much that went into that. By Friday, he was a restless, pent-up mess. 

Keith took one look at him when he walked in, Red in one arm and Twizzlers in the other, and declared, “Go home. Get changed. We’re going out.”

Lance put his heart back in his chest at those words. "Going out. Like?"  _ Be chill _ , he told himself. 

“Like out. We’ve both been cooped up all week and we need to stretch our legs.” 

_ Oh,  _ Lance thought _ , another ghost walk. _ "Look, Keith, it's not like I don't enjoy sprinting away from haunted record stores or anything, but I don't think another history lesson is really a good idea right now. We'd be soaked in minutes." 

Keith huffed. “I’m not talking about a ghost walk. But the weather’s supposed to clear up tonight so I thought…”

"Yeah?"

“Well...how d’you feel about dancing?”

~🌸~ 

When they pulled up - ‘pulled up’ being a loose term, given that they had just turned left off the road and driven right into the middle of the field - there were at least two dozen other trucks already parked. A handful of bonfires scattered here and there, sent orange and yellow fireflies into the night sky. People, a few that Lance even recognized, sat on logs, overturned buckets, or camp chairs. Almost everyone was drinking from glass jars, talking and laughing in their small groups, but the real party was evidently in the barn. 

The barn looked to be about two stories, and the fence around it was roped with yellow lights that actually made it look festive. There was music coming from inside, something that definitely sounded country but also less ‘my wife left and took my dog’ and more designed for dancing. It had a good, lively beat at least. 

“I thought you said we were going to a club?” Lance eyed the barn suspiciously.

“No,” Keith corrected. “I said we were going dancing.”

Keith came around the side of his truck and opened the door for Lance, offering him a hand to help him down. “I know it’s not a Long Beach party,” he said with a smile, “but at least it’s an old-lady-free zone. Think you can make do?” 

“I don’t know, man. This looks kinda high level for me. They might find out I’m a fraud.” Lance took his hand and jumped down. He’d worn his converse, not willing to risk mud from all the rain on his sneakers. He was proud of his forethought when the ground squelched noisily under his feet.

“Lance, pretty sure everyone knows you already, and not a soul here thinks you’re the barn dance type.” Keith steadied him with a hand on the small of his back and ignored his whine of ‘ _ What’s that supposed to mean _ ’. “But remember way back when, when I told you to ask Farmer about moonshine?”

“Yeah, I kinda remember that, I think.”

Keith grinned. “Let’s just say he does a little...weekend catering on the side.”

“Wait. There’s real-life moonshine here?”

“There’s real-life moonshine here,” Keith affirmed, leading him through the grass towards the barn. The music grew louder, and a few people called out to them to say, “Hey there!” Literally, everyone greeted them with that exact phrase. Keith nodded to them, but he didn’t seem inclined to chat; he was focused on the main doors. Lance followed along, a little less driven and a little more worried about the mud collecting on his shoes.

That was, until Keith opened the barn doors. It was like stepping onto a movie set, or a Pinterest board by some midwestern, white girl named Mickayla. It was lit with strings upon crisscrossing strings of Christmas lights, with hay bales stacked on either side against the walls. There were benches lining both sides for anyone who needed a break, but the majority of the floor was open and being put to good use by dancing couples. The very far end of the barn had a raised wooden stage where eight or so people were playing their guitars and fiddles and banjos like their lives depended on it. 

Keith’s attention was on the drink station: a wagon off to the side with a few metal barrels and stacks of glass jars. He led Lance over and fished around in his back pocket, pulling out a fresh pack of tissues and a little bottle of spray sanitizer. 

“Here, figured you’d wouldn’t touch one of these without wiping it down first,” he explained, tugging a tissue free and giving it a few spritzes. “I wouldn’t worry about the inside. Moonshine’ll take care of that.”

“Awww, you do have a heart under all that darkness.” Lance took the tissue and the cleanest jar he could find. He ignored Keith’s take on moonshine cleaning it and scrubbed it thoroughly before going over it with his hand. Yeah, his hand was probably making it dirty again, but he hated  _ not  _ doing it. 

Keith took his own and filled it from the spigot of the closest barrel, then motioned for Lance to put his under. When it was filled with a completely clear and weirdly blueberry-scented liquid, Keith grinned and clinked their jars together. “To your first hoedown. You’re officially a resident of Peach Springs.” 

“Official, huh?” Lance smiled down into the dubious liquid. 

It was different than being from Long Beach, where everyone was a stranger. Being “from” there meant knowing where things were and having a few friends and generally just existing and feeling at home. He still didn’t know where shit was in Peach Springs, but it was starting to become his community, which included both strangers saying hi and asking after him as well as having actual friends. It was…nice. “Yeah, I guess so. But do we really have to call it a hoedown?”

“Why?” Keith smirked. “You think you’ll manage to stay upright?”

“Wow. That’s it, there’s only one person going down tonight and it’s going to be you.” 

Keith looked immensely pleased with himself and his little joke as he pushed Lance’s glass to his lips. “C’mon. I promised you a dance, so bottom’s up, Buttercup.”

Lance’s retort was cut off as moonshine splashed against his mouth. He swallowed tentatively. Blueberry, with a side of lava and battery acid. “It’s,” he coughed, “strong.” 

“Yeah, careful with it. It’ll sneak up on you.” 

“I’m not a  _ child, _ I can drink.” To reiterate that, Lance took a larger swallow from the jar. Panting, tears pricking his eyes, he grinned at Keith. “There’s no way I’m losing to you.”

Keith shook his head. “Good thing I’m driving. Think enough of that stuff will help you tolerate the music enough to dance?”

“Hold on, I need two more jars before I can stomach the music.” Lance tipped the jar and took another bracing sip. 

“Whoa, okay.” Keith put a hand over the rim. “Just...give it a bit. I don’t want you getting sick on me.”

Lance pouted. “But the music’s really bad, Keith. Like,  _ really _ bad. The  _ twangs _ , they hurt my skin.”

“I know.” Patting his arm sympathetically, Keith steered him from the barrels and set his own jar on a bench after taking another swig. “Dance with me and try to ignore the twangs.”

This was honestly the part that had made Lance agree to the whole thing. As soon as Keith had said that he would dance with him,  _ together _ , Lance had emphatically agreed. The rest of Keith’s explanation was lost under Lance assuring him that he wanted to go. Keith’s arms around him, while they laughed and breathed the same air? Yeah, he was fucking ready. 

“Let’s do this.” He laced their fingers together and pulled Keith with him. “I don’t know how to hoe dunk dance though. You’ll have to teach me.”

Keith shook his head with a smile. “Like any other kind of dancing, I suppose. You just do what you want.”

"Please? Teach me. I don't want to look stupid." Lance pointed at Pearl the Mail Lady getting down with some old guy. "Teach me how to do that," Lance begged as the dude spun her before she swung between his legs and popped back up. 

Damn, mail lady could get it.

“Uhh…” Keith eyed them warily. “I mean, not everyone here just knows how to swing dance. I’d probably drop you if I tried.”

"Who said anything about swinging  _ me _ around?" Lance laughed at the look on Keith's face. Every breath between them smelled like blueberries and hay and it added to the warmth of his growing buzz. "I'm kidding. But if you don't teach me then this place  _ is  _ turning into a club and I'm going to embarrass you." 

“You could never embarrass me.” Tugging Lance closer by their laced fingers, Keith looked at him earnestly from under the shadow of his hat. 

“Stop it.” Lance playfully smacked his shoulder, laughing. 

“Stop what?” Keith pouted. “Just want you to be yourself.”

“I know, I know. But then you get all earnest and look like someone tipped your cow or whatever, haystack.” The moonshine moved his fingers until they gripped the back of Keith’s shirt. It was almost damp; from the humidity or sweat, he wasn’t sure. Lance did his best not to run his hand up and down the fabric. 

Swaying to the beat, Lance watched the other couples, not really sure where the line was for dancing with his same-sex friend in a barn in the Bible Belt. He’d barely started moving before the song ended and another began. It must have been a local favorite, given the way there was a collective whoop and people started flooding the floor. 

Keith grinned and yanked Lance close, pressing their bodies together as he adjusted his hold to the small of Lance’s back. “Gotta get a little closer for this one,” he explained. 

“Oh? What’s this one?” Lance asked, both hands fisting the faded flannel. He’d never seen Keith wear this before, but it must’ve been an old favorite with how wonderfully soft it was. 

“Closest we get to a party anthem I guess.” Keith’s hips started rocking, and with a sly grin, he pushed Lance’s back to spin him out. 

Lance laughed. “I thought you said you couldn’t dance?”

Keith pulled him back in and pivoted them both, splaying his palm in the hollow at the base of Lance’s spine. “That’s my one move. Hope you liked it.”

“Impressive.” If Lance ignored the music, setting, and the smell, he could pretend he was in a normal club with a hot guy. Who was wearing flannel. And a cowboy hat. 

Okay, nevermind. The illusion was impossible, but he was still having fun. 

He grabbed Keith's hat and flipped it onto his own head. It sagged into his eyes, a bit too big on him. "Not bad for a cowboy." 

Keith blinked dumbly at him and then visibly swallowed. He struggled for a second before managing to clear his throat and offer, “Looks good on you. You outta get one.”

"I like wearing yours better." More specifically, he liked the way Keith reacted when he wore it. "I make it look good, don'cha think?" He tipped it so that he was blinking up from under the brim. 

“Yeah, you.” Keith’s voice cracked and he looked Lance over from toe to hat-tip. “You do.” 

“Maybe I should’ve let you dress me up. I could’ve worn a whole outfit. Though I don’t think I could fill out your shirts the way you do. It’d probably look all baggy.”

“I like the way you dress,” Keith admitted, taking a small step back to look him over again. “But if you wanna wear my shirt…”

Lance pecked Keith with the brim of his hat like a duck. “I just said it wouldn’t fit. I know from experience; you’re too…”

Keith raised an eyebrow. “Too…?”

“Too, y’know, that.” He indicated all of Keith’s Keith-ness. 

“Pff.” Keith shook his head and pulled Lance back in. “C’mon. Can I - can I put my hands on your waist? Is that okay?”

Lance lifted his head. “Only if I get to put mine around you.” 

“Yeah sure,” Keith said quickly, gripping Lance above the hips. Around them, nearly every other couple on the dance floor was doing the same. “But hang on loose.” 

“Loose? Why?” 

“Because we - well, hang on.” 

Keith didn’t have time to finish his explanation, because the song hit a line that apparently everyone was very excited for. In practiced unison, everyone wearing a Stetson and Keith, lifted their partners into the air by the waist, spinning them around once before placing them back on their feet. Lance grabbed his hat to keep it from falling off on the way down. 

Keith grinned, flushed, at Lance. “Cuz I’m gonna do that. And we’re about to do it again.”

Now _ that _ was fun. Lance giggled, already bracing himself to fly. “Yes please!”

He only had to wait another few seconds for the correct line of the song, and then he was being hoisted up again in a quick spin before Keith set him gently on his feet again, grinning. “Alright, it’s a free for all until the next verse. You liked that, huh?”

“Yeah. Makes me feel like  _ Titanic _ . Well I mean, without the boat and the ocean and the dying and a lot more hay. Okay, so it's nothing like  _ Titanic _ , but it still makes me feel like I’m flying. All I’m missing is the tin whistle.”

Keith kept a hold on his waist and moved them around the floor, spinning them in between other couples and scattering hay wherever they went. He was flushed and happier than Lance had seen him since...basically ever. “We gotta make it back to our drinks before the chorus, so move your feet, Rose.”

The alcohol was relaxing Lance’s muscles and making him bold. He grabbed onto Keith’s ponytail, running his fingers through the strands as he tried to keep up. “You really want to get me drunk tonight, don’t you?”

“Up to you. We just gotta be ready to hold our glasses up when the song says.” The last word ended on a little hiss and a full-body shudder when Lance tugged his ponytail a little. 

“Well we don’t want to be left out, do we?” Lance ran his free hand down to the small of Keith's back.

“Nope,” Keith agreed, tugging Lance over to their abandoned Mason jars. He pushed Lance’s into his warm palm before taking a quick sip of his own and grunting at the burn. “Ready?”

"I guess. I mean, I'm down to drink."

Together with the song, the crowd in the barn raised their jars and shouted, “ _ Got me a jar full of clear!”  _ followed by long swallows of moonshine. Keith shook his head and exhaled hard. 

Lance quickly threw back his glass, clinking his teeth in his haste. He was a beat slower than everyone else, but at least he did it. 

Keith was still hissing in half-pain. “Christ, drink it fast enough, and anything tastes like gasoline. Bet you could light my breath on fire.”

"I don't think I've ever done anything that weird at a dance before." 

“Well,” Keith drawled, pulling the word out long and slow. A liquor-warm, lazy grin flushed the apples of his cheeks as he pulled Lance close, tugging the brim of his hat down until Lance couldn’t see. “May be weird, but at least you’re smilin’ pretty.”

Lance pushed it up with a huff. "Do you always get like this when you're drunk?"

Keith poked his lip out. “Like what?”

“Cute.”

Heavily-tattooed, highly-pierced Keith snorted, and then giggled. “Not  _ cute _ .”

“You are. Look at this.” Lance ran his knuckle over the red stain on Keith's cheek. “You adorable marshmallow.”

Sober Keith probably would have bolted or combusted or grumbled at him at the very least. Tipsy Keith just stared at him, all soft smiles and heated skin. “Didn’t know I was ‘til you came to town.” He tilted his head, subtly chasing after Lance’s touch. “Flower boy.”

That curled his toes. What had started as an insult had become Lance’s favorite nickname for himself. He wiggled to keep from bouncing. “You’re also dangerous.” He let his hand fall and brush down Keith’s front. 

Keith huffed so hard it ruffled his bangs. “You’re just never gonna let the knife thing go,” he whined. 

Lance abandoned his jar to wrap his hand around Keith’s. “I might if you do that thing again where you lift me.” He tugged their joined hands towards the dance floor. 

There was no point in correcting Keith. Let him think “dangerous” referred to the switchblade in his pocket and not the painful honesty of his eyes. It was better that way. 

Keith happily followed and obligingly lifted Lance for the next two repetitions of the chorus and then once again for good measure, right in the middle of the crowd when no one else was doing it. “So you feel special,” Keith explained. 

God, he loved being shown off, and this was the closest Keith had ever come to doing so. His heart fluttered out of his throat into a giggle. Keith picked up on it, too, because he kept on grinning and lifting Lance through another two songs. It was the third when Lance was coming to his limit. 

The drunk crowd grew louder as the moonshine waned. To keep up with the noise, the band put all their might into being heard over the rowdy conversations. By the time the guitarist switched to his slide, running the glass tube down the strings, Lance's shoulders were practically to his chin. 

“Hey.” 

He clapped his hands over his ears and squeezed his eyes shut. Every nerve was on fire and his head hurt. 

“Hey,” Keith tried again, but instead of waiting for an answer, he slid an arm across Lance’s shoulders and casually ushered him out of the barn. He walked them across the lawn outside to one of the abandoned campfires and put gentle pressure on Lance’s shoulders to guide him down to a log. 

He relaxed under Keith’s care and let a breath out in a long stutter. 

“There,” Keith said, soothing and gentle. “Better?”

Slowly, Lance brought his hands down and nodded. "Sorry," he mumbled. 

“I’m gonna make you start paying a tax on apologies,” Keith sighed as he lowered himself to the log beside Lance. 

Keith got a face full of Lance’s arm. "Look. It gave me goosebumps. I really can't stand that sound." 

“I didn’t realize it was that bad.” He frowned at Lance apologetically. “I thought it was just a personal preference. You wanna head out?”

"No, it's better out here." Lance sat back, letting his fingers graze Keith's leg. The music was dampened by barn walls and the crickets chirping soothed his ears. "It isn't that bad. Just, sometimes too much of certain sounds gets overwhelming." He snuck a glance at Keith. "You probably think I'm weird." 

“Nope.” Keith shook his head. “You know what gets me?” 

"What could possibly get you?"

“There’s a particular engine sound when certain types of cars turn on, and it sounds exactly like the cop cars from the city. Sends me into a cold sweat and I can’t hear anything. Start shaking. Got to the point where Shiro had to warn me whenever he was coming or going in his patrol car.” Keith sent him a small smile. “Not the same, but we can’t help how we react to stuff.” 

"Um." Was this something he could ask about? Or was Keith just being nice to him? "Is it…a bad reason?" 

Keith shrugged. “I told you I was on the streets for two years. You get chased a lot, spend a lot of time running and hiding. I got used to waking up in a rush when I heard that sound and taking off, so sometimes when I’m asleep, I dream that I hear it and panic.” He rubbed his neck and smiled wryly at the fire. “Not exactly fun dance talk, though. I just wanted you to know I’m not gonna judge.” 

"Mm." Lance tried to rest his head on Keith's shoulder but the hat stopped him. He pulled it off to place in Keith's lap and then scooted over so that they were touching. "I never really cared about the dance. I'm only here for you, so I don't mind." 

Keith tensed a little before letting it out on a sigh. “You just say this shit so easy.” He paused and murmured into the smoke. “Like you don’t know what it does to me.”

Lance turned his head so he could see Keith's face in the glow of the crackling fire. "Then tell me." 

“Not enough moonshine for that,” Keith said after another pause. His voice was lighter, playful, but just a little bit strained. He lifted his arm so that Lance fell closer and wrapped it around his shoulder. “What’d you think of your first trip to Miller’s Field?”

"Wait.  _ This _ is Miller's Field?" Lance didn't just fall closer; one of his legs came up to hang off Keith’s knee, swinging as Lance’s hand searched for his ponytail. "You said this wasn't your scene." 

Keith looked at him sheepishly. “You were saying how much you missed dancing, and you’ve been so miserable with all the rain, so I just thought…”

“I guess that makes us even, then.”

“Ghost walk for a barn dance? I guess so.”

They sat there a moment as Lance played with Keith's hair and took in the glow of the fire. Keith was warm and his arms were strong, holding Lance as he practically sat in his lap. His thumb stroked the bone over his hip and Lance closed his eyes as he relaxed into the touch.

“You know,” Lance said, nuzzling into the soft flannel. “The only downside to moonshine is that it comes in those crafty jars. I was looking forward to a whole barn full of people opening their beers with their arms. You did say you’d show me, and I only saw it from afar at the General Store.” 

“It’s nuts how you remember this stuff so well.” Keith grabbed a stick from the grass and nudged at the fire to stoke it back to life. 

“And yet I can’t remember to feed myself without setting an alarm.” Lance followed play of orange light and shadow across Keith’s face. “I guess we know which out of the two of us is the dumb one.” 

Keith frowned at him. “Don’t say stuff like that.”

“It was just a joke.” 

Keith’s hand on his leg stilled, but squeezed in gentle admonishment. “I know, but. I don’t like hearing it. I already beat some other guys up for saying shit about you; don’t want you to be one of ‘em.”

Lance snorted; Keith was so weird. “Sometimes I really love you.” He took a sip of his beer as he swung his legs. 

Keith resumed his soft petting. “Only sometimes, huh?”

“Maybe if you bought one of my tanks, I’d love you more.” He curled his legs to pull Keith to him. “Come’re. I’m cold.” 

Immediately, Keith was unbuttoning his flannel and shrugging out of it, draping it over Lance’s shoulder and pulling him close with one arm. “Right in front of a campfire and you can’t get warm.”

“Mm," he hummed, "but I’m warm now.” Lance dipped his nose into the collar. It smelled like smoke and sweat and heartache. Lance was right so long ago when Keith had first stepped foot into his shop. He was a heartbreak in jeans. 

Keith’s hand found the back of his neck and started lightly massaging it, but he was quiet as he stared into the campfire. 

“Hey,” he said, barely audible over the sudden crack of a log shifting.

"Yeah?" 

“I’m…” He felt Keith take in a deep breath and exhale silently. “I’m glad we met. Even when I do sometimes show up to this kinda thing, I still always feel alone.”

“Why’s that?” The wind tasted damp with leftover rain as it ruffled Keith’s bangs. Lance didn’t stop himself from sweeping it out of his eyes and tucking it behind his ear. “I’m sure almost everyone here likes to dance with you.”

Keith looked down at him, as if he was chasing after Lance’s touch. “I just do it to be polite, but it doesn’t really…” He sighed again. “I don’t know how to explain it. Haven’t you ever felt alone in the middle of a crowd?” 

"Probably everyone has," Lance said, gripping Keith's shirt. No wonder he was always trying to cling to Keith; it hid the loneliness of his crush. Even if only for a moment. "But, being here with me is less lonely?" 

Keith shrugged, careful not to dislodge him, and gave him one of those soft, special smiles. “I haven’t been lonely since you moved here. So I just...wanted to say thanks.” 

“You’re welcome.” Lance nosed into his neck, smelling the campfire mix with Keith.

“Now,” Keith began, tone brightening. “How about we ditch the field, order a pizza, and watch one of your shitty romcoms instead?”

"Do you think they'd deliver here? Dun' wanna move." Lance tapped his collar bone. "Plus, we gotta sober up." 

“Hm.” Keith pulled out his phone. “Well, by ‘deliver’ I meant ‘pick up from that store Sonny mentioned’ since you don’t do cheese. So that’d be a no.  _ But,”  _ Keith said before Lance could interrupt, “I’m not opposed to just sitting here and stargazing until I’m fit to drive.” He looked back down at Lance and squeezed him just a little closer. “Sound like a plan?”

Lance watched the fire flicker in Keith's eyes. "Yeah, just a little longer like this." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: OKAY SO I can’t get this to embed in the fic without jacking up the formatting but THERE IS MORE ART. The sweet, amazing Sharklancestan drew Lance in his evening gown and look at this fancy boy!! THANK YOU SO MUCH T_T you are too good to us 
> 
> https://twitter.com/sharklancestan/status/1277014106512470016?s=21
> 
> Autumn: Okay couple things. First of all, huge thanks again to [Pretzellus](https://instagram.com/pretzellus?igshid=re14hslcreyb) for the adorable art for this chapter. Second, don’t drink bathtub moonshine, kids. Just don’t. It’s been substantially downplayed here. Third, as a reminder, this fic has its own [Spotify Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/28mblVlFxNqeXvcMwDfe40?si=yaoZg_PCSPujZx_PIS0ctw) (actually all of our fics do) on which you can find the “Whiskey” song Keith sang at the general store, as well as the bro-country song they dance to in the barn. Cw: slide guitars 
> 
> As always, thank you for the comments and support. We’ve both been having kind of a stressful time lately, which has made writing much harder, but the sweet encouragement we get from you guys is 1,000% what keeps us motivated and moving. You’re all incredible, and I can’t thank you enough.
> 
> Sail: With the world as harsh as it is right now, I don't think I could survive without the softness of this fic, so thanks for being here with me
> 
> follow [Autumn Ignited](https://twitter.com/AutumnIgnited) for snakes and cowboy mugs, follow [SailUnchartedWaters](https://twitter.com/SailUnchartd) for bursts of adhd posting followed by silence for days
> 
> Early access to chapters [are here](https://linktr.ee/sailunchartedwaters)
> 
> check out [Pretzellus](https://instagram.com/pretzellus?igshid=re14hslcreyb)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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> 
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~🌸~

On the morning of the workshop, Lance had managed to make it to the shop even earlier than usual. Coffee in one hand and determination in the other, he set to work. He lined two tables with paper and placed bundles of flowers, florist tape, scissors, and glitter spray in little workstations. 

Keith’s special-order flowers sat on the counter. Knowing that Keith would look them up made Lance second guess every single one of them. Yellow roses, daffodils, gladiolus, and sprigs of heather. The colors were so totally  _ not _ Keith that Lance was worried that he might just laugh and leave. Did he even remember his request for flowers with meaning? Did he remember that he'd promised to come today? Lance hoped the flyer he’d stuffed in Keith’s mailbox would remind him. There was no way he could ask again. 

With everything set up, he decided to make a few sample crowns for all the people that were totally, absolutely going to show up. He pulled out a few daisies and forget-me-nots and braided them together as he hummed. If he was humming the stupid Whiskey song Keith had sung, no one had to know.

After an hour, he had a few example crowns made and decided to place them as centerpieces on the tables. There was a finished flower crown of red Gerbera daisies at his elbow, but he tried not to think about that one.

The event didn’t start until 10 AM, but this was his first ever workshop. First ever time teaching. He was hoping it wouldn’t be a total flop. Since opening, he’d only received a dismal ten emails for his mailing list. He’d sent all ten of them an invite, but there was no way that would cover the cost of the event even if all ten showed up. His only hope was that the fliers would work and he could collect more emails for future events. If worse came to worse, hopefully Keith would show. He always made everything just a little bit brighter. 

Lance pulled the last bunch of forget-me-nots through the red daisies and tied it off with florist tape. Placing it on his head, he checked himself out on his phone. Nice. It was like a real-life Snapchat filter. Speaking of, he took a few selfies and uploaded them to Insta- hashtag flower crown workshop. He added the location and time just in case. Probably wouldn’t help, but at least he tried.

Opening the door, he placed a chalkboard on the sidewalk that cheerfully announced the event. He’d doodled little flowers in the corners and placed the amount of the workshop in bright, friendly numbers. Clapping his hands to clear them of chalk dust, he turned back to his shop.

Now to kill time before people arrived. Too bad Lance was a pacifist, he was awful at killing time. He stared at the tables and adjusted things here and there so it was neater. He walked around adjusting and facing plants, just to be sure, and then went right back to staring at his set up. He probably stood there for way too long to be normal as his mind raced with every outcome. He was so deep in his head, he jumped at the vibration in his pocket. Pulling out his phone, he dismissed the alarm with a flick. 

Show time. Lance practically vibrated with excitement as he turned to the door.

~🌸~

.

.

.

One hour in and no one had showed. Not a single person. Not even to buy a stupid plant. He slumped down, his crown sliding sideways into his eyes. Why did he even try to do this? It was all a mistake and now everyone was going to know what a fuck up he was. If he hadn’t passed out fliers he could’ve pretended today was like any other day. But  _ no, he _ just  _ had _ to make sure Keith didn’t forget about it and then decided to give one out to the  _ whole block _ so it didn’t look like he was targeting Keith. Fuck.

He should clean up and pretend none of this ever happened. 

His door chimed right as he’d decided to start packing up. Keith shouldered his way in, two to-go cups with the fun blue 90s swirl in either hand. When he realized Lance was alone, his hesitant face softened into something gentle, with an edge of a smirk. 

“I see the party waited for yours truly. Here - from Stella.” He handed a cup over, along with a clean ten-dollar bill. “I had to get cash, so you get a cherry soda.” 

"Thanks, but you don't have to pay for the workshop." Lance held out the ten as he spoke around the straw. Cherry soda was going to be his downfall. "It was a bust anyway." 

Keith refused to take it, spinning a chair around to straddle it and picking up a yellow rose. “It’s only an hour in. You have a four-hour window. And also, what am I, chopped liver?” 

"No, but I wasn't planning on having you pay anyway." Lance took the rose away defensively. "You're my friend so no charge." 

“See though,” Keith gestured with his soda. “It’s still your work and your labor and those are valuable. ‘Course,” he amended with a smile. “You’re not gonna pay for your tattoo, but the rules don’t apply to me. You taught me that when you challenged me to a rigged bike race to the river.” 

“If you pay for the workshop then I’m paying for the tattoo. That’s the deal.” Lance shook the rose at Keith. 

“You can’t make a deal, I started the transaction.” 

“What? That makes no sense.” Petals fell from the rose as he shook it harder. “A tattoo is exponentially more expensive than my workshop.” 

Keith slurped loudly on his soda to show what he thought of Lance’s semantics. 

Lance pouted and held out the rose for Keith to take. “Fine. You win the battle but I’m still going to fight the war.” He pointed to the pile of yellow, red, and purple flowers. “This is actually one of the flowers I picked for you. Your whole pile is that one.” 

“I like the colors.” Keith sifted through them appreciatively. “Are you gonna tell me what they are or make me Google their descriptions?”

“Are you going to look up their meanings right now? In front of me?” Lance bit his lip, shifting from foot to foot as he looked between Keith and the flowers. 

Glancing up at his squirming, Keith shook his head with a smile. “Nah, it’ll give me something to do later. So, what’s first? And what are these for, actually?” 

"For wearing, like this." Lance pointed up to his own crown of red and blue. "You have roses, daffodils- those and these, the gladiolus, represent you," Lance said pointing to each one in turn, "and heather. You can put them in any combination you want." 

“Well, am I gonna accidentally write ‘your mom’ in Flower or something if they go in a certain order?”

Lance snickered. "No, not possible. It's just for aesthetics, so you can't mess it up. The only reason yours have meaning is because you asked me." 

“Aw, you wouldn’t have done it anyway?” Keith put on his best pout. 

"Flowers have more than one meaning. Sometimes they just mean pretty. Like, if I was going to pick a flower that looked like you, I'd pick--" Lance grabbed a stargazer lily from across the table. "This." 

Keith raised an eyebrow. “That’s awful pink. You sure that one’s not you?” 

Tucking the flower behind Keith’s ear, he shook his head. “Nah, it’s too wild to be me. It looks like it could beat up all the other flowers with one petal tied behind its stem, yet it bruises so easily.” Lance let his fingers slide to where the healed bruise had once colored the skin around Keith’s eye - the one he’d gotten because someone had threatened Lance and Keith just couldn’t let it go. 

Whether he realized it or not, Keith’s cheeks had darkened to something close to the flower behind his ear. 

“Definitely a  _ you _ flower.” 

“ _ Bruises so easily,”  _ Keith mocked back, but the effect was lost when it fell through the crack in his voice. “What are you, then?” 

“Shouldn’t you be the one picking for me? It's only fair.” He let Keith’s face go and sat back. “There’s a whole shop to pick from.”

Keith didn’t even glance around. “The blue ones. You know, the ones outside, climbing up that stick thing.”

Lance leaned to look at the door as if he could see through the wall to the trellis full of blooming morning glories. “Those? Why those?”

“They’re the same color as your eyes, for one.” Keith followed his gaze, speaking more to the door than Lance. “But there’s all that green, all the same-looking vine stuff growing around them, so they stand out. You can’t help but look at them, all bright and unapologetic about it.” 

"Shush." Lance giggled to hide his embarrassment. "Your face isn't meant to look so soft; people might start thinking you have a heart." 

Turning back around, Keith fixed him with a dry look. “Like you don’t thrive on this kinda thing. You’re practically preening.”

"Maybe, but you'll regret feeding my ego. Soon I'll be expecting it from you all the time. Then where will we be?" Lance booped his nose. 

“Not making flower crowns, for one.” Keith wiggled his nose a few times. “Thought this was a workshop. So, let’s work.”

Lance sighed. “I guess you are my one and only paying customer,” he said, gathering the supplies closer to them. “But if it only had to be one person, I’m glad it’s you.”

Lance showed him how to wrap the stems and tape them. He even sat down to make another so he could demonstrate. After a while, Keith had a relatively aesthetic chain of flowers with only a few stems sticking out in weird places. 

"You're pretty good at this." Lance grinned. 

“Could quit my day job, come work for you.” 

Lance snorted. "I open way too early. You'd always be late and then I'd have to fire you." 

Twisting another sprig of heather into the crown, Keith shrugged with an unbothered smile. “You couldn’t fire me, I’d be employee of the month. Since I’d be the only employee.” 

Thinking about that for a moment, Lance tapped the scissors to his chin. “Does that mean you’d let me boss you around?” As Keith brought the tape up to his mouth to tear it with his teeth, Lance handed him the scissors. “‘Cuz, I could get used to that.”

The disbelieving snort Keith made was so hard that it made him cough. “You mean you don’t already? Coulda fooled the hell outta me.”

“When have I ever?!” If anything, it felt like  _ he _ was being pulled along at Keith’s pace. If he really was the boss of their friendship, they wouldn’t be friends. “Name  _ one _ time. One!” He shoved a finger in Keith’s face.

“How about all the times you tell me what the rules are, how to play by them, and then why they apply to me but not you?” 

Lance deflated. “Not that you ever play by them anyway.” He turned away, focusing on the flowers in his hands. “Plus, you’re worse. You make rules and don’t even tell me what they are.”

“To what?” Keith paused to think. “I don’t recall setting rules. I usually just go along with what you come up with.”

_ About me; about us _ , Lance answered in his head. Flashes of Keith kissing him everywhere except his mouth, of his hands always finding their way  _ under _ Lance’s shirt, of his back... His back as he walked away after refusing to kiss him, his back as he pulled away from Lance’s hug after spilling his dark past, his back as he ran across the street, smiling and blushing. “Like that it’s okay to hide snacks all over  _ my  _ shop,” he said instead, and sat the finished flower crown on Keith’s head. 

“That’s just a basic necessity.” Keith pouted hard under his ring of blossoms, blinking at the bangs now crammed against his eyes. “If I didn’t, I’d starve. All you have is leaf water.” 

“ _ Homemade _ leaf water, thank you very much.” He flicked the crown out of Keith’s eyes, and it settled precariously at the back of his head. “Not to mention you’re the one that always chooses when and where we eat. It’s never, ‘Oh, Lance.’” He clasped his hands together as he pitched his voice low to mimic Keith, but ended up sounding more British than Southern, “‘Where would you like to go today? The vegan restaurant three hours away? That sounds lovely. You always pick such good places.’”

“Tch.” Keith wrinkled his nose. “You really wanna drive all the way into the city for some plants you could get down the street? Thought I was doing you a favor, taking you where I know you can get your lawn-clippings-for-food, but I see my generosity goes unappreciated.” 

“You could at least ask, ‘Hey, Lance, where would you like to go for lunch?’ That way when I answer  _ Walgreens _ , it’s at least my choice.”

Smile softening, Keith patted Lance’s hand indulgently. “Alright then. Next time, you pick the pharmacy, even if it doesn’t sell food. I apologize for my selfish lunch habits. How’m I gonna be able to make it up to you?” 

“Next time lunch is on you. Oh!” Lance jumped up, eyes shining. “Sonny was over here the other day and we were hanging out. He gave me these vegan brownies. You gotta try them.”

“Uh.” Keith stood, following Lance with his eyes, his expression unreadable. “You, uh...pretty sure you know what’s in ‘em?” 

“I don’t think you understand how many potheads I was friends with back home,” Lance said as he moved to the back room, grabbing the brownies. “I know what edibles taste like, Keith. The only thing magical about these bad boys are their lack of animal products.”

“What the hell would go into a brownie that -“Keith cut himself off. “Eggs, I guess? What  _ is  _ in them, then? Also, Doritos don’t have animals in them.” 

Setting down the tray of brownies, he leveled Keith with a deadpan glare. “Cheese, Keith. They have cheese.”

That seemed to give Keith pause, as if the idea that Doritos might actually contain a real food product had never crossed his mind. He started to retort but settled for sticking his hands in his hoodie pockets with a mystified, “Huh.”

Lance rolled his eyes with a smile. “Your food privilege is showing.” He sat down and picked at one of the brownies, licking the crumb. “He invited me to a party. I think it’s going to have the other kind of brownies there.”

Keith stiffened, shifting his gaze from mild interest to staring hard at the ground. “Z’that so,” he said tonelessly. 

"Not a fan of parties?" Oh, wait, it was probably the drugs. Lance sat back, bringing a whole brownie with him. "I know you're sober, so I get it. I'll let Sonny know you can't come." 

“Wasn’t invited.” Keith gave an indifferent shrug. “So, you two...hang out now?”

"Yeah, now and then. And don't give me those emo-always-picked-last shoulders.  _ I  _ was inviting you, just now." 

Keith finally turned to look at him once more, fighting his face from glowering but only managing to look like he’d smelled something terrible. It was a definite contrast to the delicate ring of flowers sitting pretty just above his furrowed brows. “You can’t just invite people to other people’s parties. I’ve known Sonny years now. If he wanted me there, he’d’ve said so.”

“After he invited me, I asked him if you could come and he said yes, so there. I didn’t realize it would make you so upset, stargazer.” Lance threw one of said flowers at him and took a bite of his brownie.

“I’m not upset!” Keith snapped, batting the flower aside. 

“Yeah, sure you’re not.” Lance pushed the pan of brownies closer to Keith. “I get it if you don’t want to be around drugs, that’s cool. But you can always just hang out there, with me. You don’t have to smoke or drink or anything.”

Sighing, Keith sat back and looked up at the ceiling. “...What time.” 

“It’s Saturday at 9.” Lance picked up a brownie for him and placed it in his hand. “If you change your mind.”

Giving up, Keith took it and stuffed most of it in his mouth at once. After chewing grumpily for a few seconds, he reluctantly admitted, “...Actually not half bad.” 

Lance snorted around his mouthful. “That’s all you ever say about my food.”

Keith ate the rest in one bite and turned back to his crown. It was still only half done, less of a crown and more of a floral potholder. They worked in silence for a little while, weaving flowers together, brushing hands and knocking knees as they reached across each other for supplies. 

Lance’s elbow bumped into Keith’s for a third time. “Sorry,” he said, scooting his chair a fraction of an inch away.

Keith raised an eyebrow. Knocked Lance back with his own elbow.

“Hey, I said sorry.” He elbowed Keith on purpose this time. 

Keith elbowed back. “You’re trying to sabotage my masterpiece.”

Lance scoffed and kicked him in the foot. “Why would I sabotage my patron?” 

Now Keith leaned over and ever-so-gently shoulder checked Lance. “Because then you’d have to admit I’m better at flowers than you.” 

Pushing back, Lance glared. “You braid half a flower crown and now you think you’re the King of Flowers? I made six of these before you even finished breakfast.”

Keith reached across and stole three big blue flowers from Lance’s pile and began weaving them into his own crown. “That’s right,” he said with a shrug. “I’m the fucking Flower King.”

Lance’s jaw dropped. “Those were mine.” He tried to snatch them and missed, Keith pulling away at the last moment. Overshooting his lunge, the chair tipped slightly. Lance half-fell, half-grabbed onto Keith with an oof.

Taking one of the red flowers from his own pile, Keith used the opportunity to slip it behind Lance’s ear. “And I think I’ve found the Court Jester.” 

Lance blinked up into lidded violet eyes. Keith’s scent overwhelmed his senses and his hand was still hovering next to his ear. He could feel Keith’s fingertips tickle the fine hair at his nape. He looked down at Keith’s lips at the exact moment that they were being licked.  _ Oh _ . His stomach turned with need. All he had to do was close the small distance between them. 

He looked back up at Keith, the question written across his face. Keith let out a small sigh and Lance breathed it in. It was sweet and bitter at the same time, probably the effect of some sugary energy drink. He bet it tasted better on Keith than in the can. He wanted to find out.

Was it Keith who moved first? He wasn’t sure. But now they were both so close that Keith’s bangs tickled his nose. He blinked, then fluttered his eyes closed. This whole time he’d been right, that was Keith’s kiss-me face.

“Lance.” Keith whispered, leaning in - 

“Is this the Workshop?” The door opened and women in red hats came pouring in, like an intrusive geriatric tsunami. 

They jumped away from each other; Keith coughing and Lance standing up, the red flower falling from his ear.

“Yes!” he squeaked. “Yeah, welcome!” 

From above them all came Kay’s smooth voice calling, “Lance, honey?”

“Kay?” Lance stood on his tiptoes to see over the ocean of hats.

She met eyes with him and smiled as the herd of women well past their 60s settled around the various tables in an explosion of feathers and costume jewelry. Kay parted them like the Purple-and-Red Sea as she approached them both, taking up Lance’s hands and turning her face to await her cheek kiss. “Hello darling.” He squirmed a moment before stealing himself and pecking her cheek. It was weird and foreign but the more he hung out with her the more normal it became.

She turned to Keith for the same treatment, and he obediently pressed a quick kiss to her softly wrinkled face. “I hope you don’t mind that I’ve brought a few friends today?” 

“A few?” Lance stared open mouthed. “I think you brought everyone.”

“Actually, you brought them.” Her smile was unmistakably proud. “When they all saw my little fishy in his cute little tank, they insisted we use our Friday Field Trip to come here so everyone could buy one. I only convinced them to wait until today so we could attend your workshop while we were at it.” 

“Oh,” Lance said, choking back tears. He was  _ not _ going to cry over people actually showing up. “Wow, Kay, I-” He looked to Keith for help.

Keith chuckled. “You got something in your eye there, Flower Boy?”

Lance kicked at him and turned back to Kay. “Thank you,” he said, pulling her into a hug. “Really.”

She squeezed him with all the birdlike strength she could muster, holding him back by the shoulders as she smiled. “No need. We’ve been looking forward to it! Now why don’t you show us how it’s all done?” 

Lance grinned, wiping his face on his shirt and setting to work. There were more old ladies than there were seats so Keith ran to get some loaners from the antique store next door. Now that Lance had turned Keith into a master flower crown maker, they both went around helping out and getting everyone situated.

Keith took one table and Lance took the other. All the hats had to be stacked on the counter for everyone to fit around his tables shoulder to shoulder. He watched Keith help them pick out flowers and explain almost verbatim what Lance had told him. He was kinda surprised that Keith had listened so well. He kept pushing his flower crown out of his eyes every time he bent over. Lance didn't want to think about why Keith was still wearing it. Instead, he turned to his table and set to work. 

At some point, Kay motioned him over and tugged his shirt to pull him down to her level. 

“Did you tell him yet?” she whispered. “He keeps looking over at you.”

Lance squatted next to her chair and sighed. “I tried, I swear, but…”

“But?”

“But he just wants to be friends.” Lance glanced up and watched Keith curl ribbon for a finished crown. Their eyes met and Lance quickly turned back to Kay. “He doesn’t want to start anything if I’m leaving.”

“Ah.” Kay idly stroked his knee for a moment, then sighed. “I suppose I can’t blame the boy. Do you still want him regardless of knowing you’ll be leaving? Won’t you be hurt as well?”

He didn’t dare look at Keith again. Instead he stared down at the black screen of his phone. “Just because I leave doesn’t mean it has to be over. I’m still friends with everyone back in Long Beach.” It didn’t matter that he hadn’t texted Hunk in almost a month and he hadn’t heard from Pidge since he left. They were still friends...right? Of course they were. They were just busy. It might be hard, but he wanted to at least try with Keith.

Kay gave him a soft, slightly sad smile. “Well…for what it’s worth, I went years between seeing Lance the Older. And it made the reunions all the sweeter.”

“You did?” Lance looked up from his thoughts. He meant to look at Kay, but instead he was instantly drawn to Keith. He stared at the back of Keith’s head, wishing he could see the small smile he knew was there. “If you were me, what would you do? Would you take the chance?” 

“Of course. Once you get to be my age, you realize life is far too short not to take every chance at happiness.”

Lance grinned, slow and hopeful. “Thanks Kay!” He kissed her on the cheek and stood. “I owe you one.” 

She waved him off. “Bring me more of those carnations and we’ll call it even. Janet stole them all.” 

The rest of the workshop went smoothly - though random flowers kept ending up in Keith’s hair every time Lance passed by. After the three hours were over and all the ladies had their flower crowns on their heads and their hats in their hands, Keith looked like a flower shop himself.

Kay gave them both parting kisses on their cheeks and then patted them in with a few light, loving slaps. The Look she gave Lance as she waved goodbye spoke volumes - a clear ‘ _ You better have news for me next time, one way or the other.’”  _

Between the ten dollars a head and the order forms for aquaponics tanks, Lance had nearly tripled his quota for the month with this workshop alone. He stared numbly at the spreadsheet while Keith ushered everyone out. 

When the door finally stopped chiming as the last grandma filed out, Keith turned to him with a big smile and a daisy falling across one eye. “All the flowers they just used, you might have to close down shop for a while just to restock.” 

Lance looked up from the spreadsheet and towards his shop, blinking as he tried to process it. The shelves were nearly bare, and he was wiped out of succulents. All at once it hit him that he’d done it. He hadn’t run his family’s flower shop into the ground. 

Tears caught in his lashes and he slumped over the counter. “Fuck.” Knuckling at his eyes, he smiled up at Keith. “Fuck Keith. I’m going to have to restock.”

Keith grinned even wider. “You’ll have to do inventory. And  _ sweep _ .”

_ "Keith,"  _ Lance whined. "Don't ruin my moment."

“I’m not! It’s a good thing.” He crossed over to Lance and flicked one of the roses in his crown so that it shifted back on his head. “You did awesome. Congratulations.”

"Couldn't have done it without you." Lance grinned and reached for Keith. "You really are the flower king."

Keith’s arms opened instantly to wrap him in a tight hug. “Mrs. F’s gonna be so proud of you. And for what it’s worth, I’m proud of you too.”

Lance let himself melt into Keith. His belly flipped as he worked up the courage to ask, "I know you won't let me pay you for all the work you did, but can I at least take you out and treat you to floats?" 

Pulling back, Keith kept his hands lightly on Lance’s waist as his smile softened. “You know I never say no to floats.” 

Shifting until he was holding Keith's hand, Lance tugged him toward the door. Keith didn't need to know that it was a date, that could be Lance’s little secret for now. 

~🌸~

Keith had been to Sonny's house before. Despite what he’d told Lance, he did count Sonny as a sort-of friend, and they’d hung out a few times just to listen to music or play pool. His house was behind the Pharmacy and about a block down at the end of the road, one of the more historical looking houses with an actual wraparound porch.

What he hadn’t done in a very long time was go to a house party. When he was a kid, “house party” was code for hand-offs or drumming up new clients for the guys he ran for. Going to a party to just...hang out? That was still a difficult concept to grasp. Even the graduation cookout Shiro had thrown for him had felt like a sting operation waiting to happen. 

So, what the hell was he doing at 11 o’clock at night, heading to a party he had no interest in? 

His hopeless, stupid, sadistic heart knew precisely why he was going. His brain was fucking baffled and screaming at him to run. 

So, he kept on walking. 

By the time he arrived, the party was in full swing and music was spilling out onto the block. A few red solo cups and empty beer cans were scattered here and there. He kicked a can and sent it rattling up to the door. 

Briefly, he wondered where Stella was, and whether she knew her son was hosting every single stoner under the age of about 25 within a thirty-mile radius. Likely not. She didn’t seem the type to tolerate questionable house parties. It made Keith feel even more uncomfortable and he hadn’t even gotten inside. 

He considered ringing the doorbell. From the pulse of some kind of trance music inside, it likely would have gone unheard and unanswered, so he squared his shoulders and let himself in. 

It looked like it always had: cornflower blue furniture, photos on the fireplace mantle, the big, hand-embroidered cross stitch that said BLESS THIS MESS presiding over the cozy living room. He made his way past all of that to the basement door, which was vibrating in time to the music. Sparing one last thought for his abandoned sanity, Keith opened the door and made his way down. 

The smell was distinct and powerful, and it immediately made his arms itch with the memory of sleeping in the grass under the bridge that connected one half of the city to the other. How he’d shared it with a rotation of anonymous, twitchy-fingered people. How they all slept with one eye on each other, mistrustful. Scratching his own arms raw, then scratching at the scabs that formed from the scratching. Being so hungry he couldn’t always stand. 

Keith shrugged his shoulders a few times, trying to shake himself out of the past. This was Sonny. And Lance. Guys he knew and trusted. The worst that might happen was that they all raided Goolricks for snacks and got caught by Sonny’s own mother. 

Following the smell and the music both, Keith found a circle of about ten people in various stages of lounging across the woodstove-scented-carpet and the plastic covered furniture. He stood there awkwardly, unsure of how to announce his presence, fighting the urge to leave right then before things got so much more awkward, before - 

“Keith!” Lance’s voice was barely audible over the music. His head popped out from the side of a La-Z-Boy. He was leaning over, almost laying down as he waved. “You came,” he said, paused, then snorted and dissolved into giggles as he fell fully onto the floor. 

“Yep,” Keith agreed, still standing awkwardly even when Sonny popped up from behind Lance. Sonny stepped over him and clapped Keith on the back in greeting. “I’m glad you showed. Lance was convinced you wouldn’t, but I told him the stars were in alignment tonight.”

Keith nodded. All he wanted to do was join Lance, but instead he was being ushered around the room and introduced to people he already knew. While Keith waved vaguely at Steven and June Anne saying hi from their position in the corner, he noticed Lance was no longer laying on the floor by the La-Z-Boy.

“Look, Sonny. This is nice, but-”

“Just a few more, my man. You can’t have cohesive chakra unless all souls are on the same vibration.” 

So, Keith was stuck as Sonny dragged him along in the name of congenial Nirvana. His eyes still searched the room for any trace of Lance. Every one of his nerves was on edge, and his whole body vibrated with the need to either find Lance immediately or bolt.

“Sup,” said some guy named Calvin who was taking up the entire couch by himself.

Keith was about to answer when someone hooked their hand through his arm. 

“I didn’t think you were going to make it.” Lance blinked slightly down at him and Keith realized he was wearing some kind of platform sneakers that made him nearly two inches taller. His shirt was the same crop top from the day they'd gone bike riding, but now that they were paired with high waisted shorts, he could read it.  _ Banana Milk _ , it said across his chest. Mystery solved - sort of, anyway, because what the fuck did that even mean. 

It didn’t matter. Lance was there and touching him. Keith tried not to sag with the feeling of relief and comfort that came with him. 

Looking up - like,  _ up _ up, ugh - at Lance, Keith tried for a smile and an easy shrug. “Not much to do around here otherwise, and I think you damn near went cross-eyed with the puppy dog eyes when you asked. So. Here I am.” 

Lance bumped him with his hip. "I did not." 

“Here,” Keith said, trying to reel himself back from the tailspin of nervousness and elation that always came from seeing Lance. He passed over the small box he’d zipped into his jacket. “Went to town yesterday and brought you somethin’.” 

"What's this?" Lance held the box to his face shaking it. "Oh my God, don't tell me…" He ripped open the lid to reveal golden brown roasted chickpeas. Popping one into his mouth he moaned, licking his fingers clean. "My hero. I'm starving." 

“Uh.” Keith stared at Lance’s tongue, watching it lap and suck at his fingers until his own tongue snuck out to wet his dry lips. “Glad. That you, uh. Like them.” 

"They're so fucking good." He held the box out to Sonny. "These are the ones I told you about; do you think you can make them?" 

Sonny popped a few in his mouth and chewed thoughtfully. “Oh yeah, totally - just need a little cumin, some garlic salt, some-“

Keith sat down abruptly, pulling Lance with him. “I’ll just grab a bunch more when I go to town again, no need.” 

A few of the chickpeas fell out as Lance stumbled down with Keith and rolled along the floor. Lance pouted and tried to chase one, stretching out as far as he could without moving. His shirt gathered under his armpits, revealing his whole back. It didn't take long for him to give up when leaning over wasn't good enough. "Gotta be careful; you're spilling them," he accused. 

Reaching out, Keith grabbed a fistful of his shirt and tugged him back. “You be careful,” he shot back. “Or you’ll lose your snacks and your clothes.” 

"My clothes aren't for sale," Lance said, staring down at the crop top. "They wouldn't look good on you anyway." 

Sonny snorted and laughed a little too hard at that. “I’d sure pay to see this ol’ hardass in that cutesy top.”

“In your dreams,” Keith grumbled. He tucked his knees up but didn’t let go of Lance’s shirt. It was obvious that he was the only one who wasn’t toasted, and it made him feel doubly awkward. Hopefully his stiffness and weird mood would go unnoticed in the fog of smoke and surprise vegan snacks. 

Lance lit up. "I take it back, I wanna see it." He grabbed the bottom of his shirt and fought against Keith's hand to pull it off, which left him somewhere inside the shirt with his arms stuck up. 

“Keep it on,” Keith snapped, voice cracking. He cleared his throat. “I’m not putting on your tiny banana shirt.” 

"Rude. This shirt is adorable. It's my second favorite shirt." 

"It's the best color," Sonny said, staring blankly at the glittering text. 

“Yeah…” Keith released the fistful of shirt to slide his palm down the ridges of Lance’s spine. They were prominent under the warm expanse of his brown back. He wanted to taste them. “But this jerk looks good in every color.” 

“Naw, I mean...the  _ best  _ of all  _ colors _ , you know? Like the colors... _ mean  _ things.” Sonny gestured philosophically at nothing. “You know?” 

"Yeah," Lance agreed. "It's like the universe. Wide open. It feels good too." He ran his hand over the plastic letters and shivered, goosebumps rising over his skin.

Sonny leaned over and brushed his fingertips across the letters as well. “Wide open,” he confirmed. 

Something ugly bubbled up inside Keith that made him itch to reach out and smack Sonny away. He bit down hard on his lip to stop the impulse, but instead found himself pushing his thumb into Lance’s back and massaging small circles instead. 

"Feels good," Lance whispered and leaned back, resting his head on Keith. He took a deep breath that Keith could feel more than hear. Lance turned to rub his face into the leather of Keith’s jacket like a kitten. 

And oh Jesus fuck did that do things to his heart he wasn’t prepared to deal with. It was so hard to resist the urge to sling his arm around Lance and press him closer, kiss the top of his hair. He smelled like smoke and some kind of sweet cologne. Maybe perfume or fruity body splash or something equally  _ Lance _ . His stomach tightened and he sucked in a breath. 

"God, what is this?" Lance ran his hands up the leather, kneading it under his long fingers. 

“What, my jacket?” Keith looked down, murmuring the words into his hair. 

"It's  _ fantastic _ ," Lance said like a prayer. 

Keith wanted to groan or bolt or flip Lance on his back and finally kiss him, pin him down and nuzzle into that sweet smell and tell him how good he looked and - 

“Keith,” Sonny interrupted, passing him a glass pipe and a Bic lighter. “For you, whole thing. We saved it.” 

Tensing, Keith looked between Sonny and the pipe. “Uh.” 

"No." Lance twisted so that he was pillowed on Keith’s thigh. Clumsily, he pushed the pipe so that it swung in Sonny's hand. He glared up at Keith, eyebrows comically drawn. "If you do, I won't like you anymore.”

The tension and fear drained from him like liquid and left him dizzy. He glanced down at Lance and raised an eyebrow, hoping Lance hadn’t noticed how he’d begun to sweat. “Z’that so? Why’s that?” 

"You promised." His nose scrunched cutely. "Not me. But you did; you told me." 

Keith tapped the tip of his nose. “Sure did. Glad you respect that.” 

Lance nodded. "None for Keith,” he announced to the room at large. "But I want a brownie!" 

Grinning, Sonny stood and walked over to an ancient brown card table, sagging under the weight of soda, kombucha, and several casserole dishes of brownie. He cut a generous wedge and returned, passing it to Lance with dramatic flair. “For you, good Sir. You’re all over these tonight, my dude. Happy you’re enjoying the fruits of your suggestions.” 

"I never waste your cooking." Lance nibbled on the brownie, scooting his head more firmly onto Keith's leg. 

"You're the cutest when you're stoned." Sonny laughed, licking chocolate off his fingers. "Like that time when you started crying over your flowers." 

"They were so beautiful," Lance said, taking a big bite. 

Everyone was so baked, Keith figured he was safe resting his hand on Lance’s forehead. It was a little thing, but it made him feel - well, better and worse, actually. He wondered if he was getting second-hand high; the way he was acting, body doing things without his active consent? Hell, very well may be. 

God was Shiro ever going to be pissed. 

He scratched lightly against Lance’s scalp. “So,” he tried for casual. “You guys do this a lot, then?” 

Lance shook his head and practically purred under his fingers. "Only when he brings me something new." 

“Lance is the  _ best _ ,” Sonny emphasized, “At like. Existing. And tasting things. These other losers don’t know gourmet cuisine if it walks into a bar.” 

Several disgruntled mumbles rose from the assorted piles of human while Keith tried to puzzle out that particular idiom. 

“It’s nice to have some kinship in this town, man,” Sonny finished, reaching over to pat Lance on the leg. “Ain’t that right, California?” 

Lance snorted, sharing a look with Sonny. "I don't know how I'd survive without you. God bless your hummus." 

Keith couldn’t help it if he tried. He bristled instantly, thigh muscle tensing under Lance’s head. He remembered the dazed, amused, pink-tinted look on Lance’s face the first time Keith ever called him Long Beach, the quirk of his lips, the sparkle in his electric blue eyes. The idea that he now shared that specific intimacy with someone else…? 

Without thinking, without any time for forethought or self-preservation, Keith’s hand slid down Lance’s arm and entangled their fingers. “Aw. Lookit you making friends, Kitten. I’m so proud.” 

Keith watched the sluggish emotions pull and tug Lance's face until it settled on confusion, his red-tinted blue eyes blinking more than normal while he processed. Lance’s fingers squeezed their linked hands as if he’d just noticed and was verifying it was real. 

Then he smiled, slow and mischievous. Not letting go of Keith's hand, he sat up and wiggled his way into Keith's lap, wrapping their linked hands around his own waist. "Yeah.  _ Kitten _ . That's me." 

Oh no. Keith hadn’t anticipated this getting so much worse. And  _ still  _ he held Lance closer and watched Sonny’s face as Keith nudged at Lance’s shoulder with his nose. “Yep. That’s you alright.” 

"We should play a game." Lance abandoned holding Keith's hand in favor of pressing it against the skin of his stomach. Keith could feel muscles rippling under the skin and the little roll of fat that came from sitting. "A game that includes eating." Lance leaned over to grab his abandoned box of chickpeas. 

“Life is a game,” Sonny opined at the same time Keith asked, warily, “What kind of game?”

"It's also a boardgame!" Lance laughed at his own pun.

Sonny tapped his nose and winked. "Too true." 

Lance had already moved on and was humming to himself in thought. "Uh, every time you get it right, you get a bite." He held up the chickpeas triumphantly. 

Keith was lost as hell and Sonny was still touching Lance. He scooted them both further away under the guise of getting comfortable. “Get what right?” 

"The question, duh." 

“This is only fun if you like rabbit food,” Keith muttered. 

"Then you don't have to play." Lance rattled the box. "What's my favorite flower?" Immediately, he ate a chickpea. 

“I didn’t even answer yet,” Keith protested. “Didn’t we just have this talk about you and rules?” 

"Did we?" 

"Yes,” Keith muttered, giving Lance’s belly a retaliatory tickle to remind him that Keith had an ace up his sleeve when it came to Lance’s weaknesses. 

Lance squirmed and threw his head back, wheezing for Keith to stop. 

“Morning glory,” Keith said confidently. 

"Forget-me-not," Sonny piped up. 

"Ding ding ding!" Lance tossed a chickpea at Sonny who tried to catch it in his mouth and missed. It went rolling under the couch. 

“What?” Keith protested. “Since when? You talk about morning glories all the damn time - how pretty they are, how hard you gotta work to grow them, all kinds of shit and never once have you mentioned forget-me-nots.” 

"It's about the sentiment, my man. Lance is the kind of brightness that doesn't want to be forgotten." He reached for a chickpea on the ground that Keith was pretty sure was one of the ones that'd fallen out of the box a while ago. 

Hidden by Lance, Keith made a face and tried not to gag, and not from dirty chickpea. “Whatever. Ask another.” 

"Okay. Um." Lance snacked on a few more as he thought, brownie lost somewhere during tickles. "What's my favorite color?" He ate more. 

Keith wasn’t about to get tricked on this one. “To wear, in a flower, or just to look at?” 

"Everything." 

“Blue,” Keith said as Sonny offered, “Sunrise over mountains.” 

"So close," Lance shook his head. He picked up a roasted chickpea between his fingers and turned to hold it up to Keith's lips. "One point." 

Locking eyes with Lance, Keith snaked his tongue out to lap it into his mouth and crunched. 

Bleh. Fuckin’ gross. 

Lance was perfectly still, fingers still brushing against Keith's lips. 

"Next question," Sonny said. At some point he'd moved to laying on the floor, his head next to Lance’s legs. 

"Question? Right. Question. Who's my crush?" 

Sonny turned to look curiously at Lance, raising both his eyebrows. Keith went completely still. His fingertips twitched. His breath quickened. His whole body flashed between hot and cold, alternating between fear and the anticipation of what Lance might say. 

“You wanna open up your truth to those present?” Sonny’s voice was interested, philosophical. 

That broke Lance out of some kind of trance. He kicked at Sonny, laughing. "It's your delicious food, duh. Stole my heart." 

That was about all Keith’s addled brain could take. His grip tightened, and he pulled Lance back to rest his chin in the sharp dip between shoulder and neck. 

Boldly, recklessly, he lowered his voice so only Lance could hear. “You sure about that?” 

Lance shivered between his fingers, mouth open in a small 'o'. He lowered his head, but his body pressed into Keith's. Keith could hear him say something, but it was so quiet that the music drowned it out. 

“What was that?” 

"I don't want to play this game anymore." 

Keith’s heart constricted and he let his breath out, slow and shuddering, against Lance’s cheek. 

Sonny was gone and the room was hazy with smoke. 

“Well.” Keith’s voice was cautious, low. He could feel his own heartbeat in the pulse of his fingertips. “What do you want to do?”

"Touch," Lance said simply. He grabbed Keith's hands and rubbed them on his stomach and up his sides. "Love touching." 

Groaning, Keith rested his forehead against Lance’s shoulder, but he let his hands roam across warm skin. “ _ Fuck _ , Lance.”

"I'm really glad you came. It's no fun being high without cuddling." Lance nuzzled his jacket and his ribs expanded under Keith's hands with the inhale. "I almost had to cuddle Sonny instead." 

“S’not allowed,” Keith said into his skin. 

“You’re not the boss of me.” Lance twisted and shifted until he was straddling Keith, spreading Keith’s jacket apart and running his hands over his thin black t-shirt. Keith could feel his fingers as they caught and slid over the fabric, his thumb catching against one of Keith’s hidden piercings. He sucked in a breath between his teeth. 

Lance’s pupils were blown wide from his high and pink was creeping around the edges. “Less talking,” he ordered, “more touching.” 

“Lance,” Keith warned, sliding his hands over Lance’s and trying to tug them down before his thundering heartbeat betrayed him. “Not sure you wanna do this right now.” 

“Is that a no?” Lance’s hands paused, but his face turned from Keith’s jacket into the skin of his neck. His breath was hot as he spoke, “If you say no, I won’t.”

“ _ Ahshit _ ,” Keith said in a rushed, labored exhale. “I just...there are like ten other people here and it’s  _ Stella’s basement  _ and you’re high as shit.” The hard shiver down his spine did a great deal to undermine his reluctance, however. 

Lance’s fingers curled into fists, scraping Keith through his shirt and pulling him close. A wet tongue skimmed across his neck, so light that he wasn’t sure it’d happened. “Fine.” 

The loss of heat was the first thing he noticed as Lance pulled back. “The game must go on and I am just a player.”

Keith was about to let himself make a big mistake. He was already reaching out to pull Lance back when a loud bang startled him so badly, he nearly bucked Lance from his lap. 

Sonny slammed the door against the wall a few more times, earning him almost no attention from everyone else, besides a few groans. “Party’s over, everyone out.” He went around, pulling people off couches in an effort to get them moving. “My mom’s coming home, everyone has to get out.”

It was like being doused with ice water, the shock of electric cold sending him hurtling to a point of panic. His skin was clammy, and his pulse thundered in his ears.  _ Gunshots,  _ his brain supplied.  _ Cops are coming. Run - you gotta run, hide before they get you or the others turn you in, run, Keith, goddammit,  _ **_run_ ** _ \-  _

His world filled with blue. “Hey.” Lance ran a soft knuckle down his cheek. “You alright in there?”

Keith exhaled shakily and focused on that touch, using it to reel himself back to the present. He gave Lance a weak smile. “Gunshots,” he whispered in explanation. 

Lance pressed his palms over Keith’s ears, nails scratching the tension away from his neck. “Didn’t like it here anyway.”

Keith squeezed Lance’s hips once before letting him go. “Guess we better take this elsewhere before you’re cut off from cherry sodas.”

“Dun’ wanna go home. Take me to your place?” Lance didn’t move.

“Out!” Sonny tugged on Lance’s wrist just as it was about to wrap around Keith’s neck. “Everyone out!” 

Lance stumbled, reaching out for balance.

In another second, he was swept up into steady arms with a  _ whoa _ . 

“I’ve got this mess,” Keith said, nodding his head to Lance. “Good luck with the others.”

“Yeah, man,” Sonny said hastily, still tugging on someone’s ankle. “See ya.”

Keith adjusted Lance’s weight in his arms. “Come on, then. Let’s get you some coffee. And water.” 

“Isn’t that just an Americano?” Lance giggled and snorted. He swung his feet and wrapped his arms around Keith’s neck. “Let’s get food, too. I’m starved.”

“From where? The town’s long since gone to bed. You’re stuck with whatever I’ve got in the mini fridge.” 

“Wait!” Lance screamed right in Keith’s ear. “My chickpeas!” He wiggled, reaching for the long-forgotten box.

For the sake of propriety, Keith dumped Lance in his car, then doubled back for the chickpeas. Being the only sober one, he got coerced by Sonny into saying goodnight to Stella and thanking her for letting them use the basement to watch a movie. Stella gave him a hug and a bag of chips. Sonny gave him a grateful smile and a hushed, “I owe you one, man.”

By the time Keith returned to his car with chips and chickpeas, Lance was curled up in the seat watching cat videos.

“Having fun?” Keith glanced over as he put the car in reverse. 

“I love cats,” Lance said, almost in tears. “How are they so fuzzy?”

“One of life’s mysteries.” Checking his watch, Keith pulled them out of Sonny’s driveway and turned in the cul-de-sac. The stop sign at the end of the street was a bit of a problem. If he went right, he could do as Lance asked and take him to the shop. If he went left…

Wait. Had Lance asked to go to the shop? Or to his  _ place _ ? Shit. That was even worse. 

“Really ought to get you home, y’know,” he said, trying one more time to take the safe route. 

“You promised food.” Lance looked up with tears caught in his lashes around red eyes. Whether that was from the cat videos or his suggestion, Keith wasn’t sure. 

He bit back the urge to roll his eyes. “You are such a handful,” Keith murmured, all soft fondness. “Put your seatbelt on.” 

Lance kept himself occupied for the twenty minutes it took to drive out of the suburbs and halfway to the next closest town, only breaking to whine on occasion when the Internet failed him in a cornfield or two. It was nearing one in the morning when Keith parked them at the only restaurant open for miles: a Taco Bell. 

“Alright, you - it’s the Fresco menu at Taco Bell or trying your luck at Sheetz. Those are your options. But better let me be the one to go in.” 

"No, don't leave." Lance flopped his hand on the console and grabbed for him. 

“Okay, okay.” Keith patted his hand. “Drive thru?”

"Yeah. I want a burrito and a black bean taco, no cheese. Oh, and a Mexican pizza with beans." Lance twisted his hand to pull on Keith's. "And cinnamon twists. Like, fifty." 

“Mexican pizzas have cheese too.” 

“Obviously no cheese on anything,” Lance said, pouting as he tugged harder. “Don’t make fun of me because I’m high.”

Keith steered them around to the drive-thru, where a very disinterested voice asked, “Can I help you?”

“Hi.” Keith repeated Lance’s order, ending on, “and, like, fifty cinnamon twists.”

“Um.” The voice paused. “You want fifty orders of cinnamon twists?” 

Keith raised an eyebrow at Lance for confirmation. 

“At least.” Lance nodded.

Shrugging, Keith leaned out of the window. “Uh. Yep, apparently we do.” 

“...Let me check if we even have that many.” 

While they waited, Keith looked over at Lance with a wry smirk. “You’re gonna regret this in the morning, you know. And I take no responsibility for not putting a stop to it.” 

“Don’t worry, I’ll still blame you.” Lance smiled, got distracted by the effort it took to smile, and dropped his phone. He fished for it as they waited, butt sticking up and knee on the console.

Keith very intently looked straight ahead, and not at all towards Lance’s perfect, wiggling ass just inches from his face. 

“Okay,” the drive-thru kid said cautiously. “We’re just going to put them in big bags; is that okay?”

“Sure,” Keith confirmed, trying not to laugh. Even when he was given the total, he was still biting his lip as he drove around to the window and handed over his credit card. The kid was definitely peering at them, trying to get a look at the two people who had driven to the only Taco Bell for miles around in the middle of the night to clean them out of cinnamon twists. He seemed a little disappointed at how normal they appeared. 

When he handed over two enormous bags stuffed with cinnamon twists, Keith lost the battle not to laugh. He handed them over to Lance and the look on his face only made Keith laugh harder. 

The whole car smelled of oil and cinnamon. Lance opened the first bag and took a deep breath, then sneezed. “Cinnamon,” he said as an explanation and sneezed again. “In my nose.”

“Maybe don’t snort them like an addict then.” Keith reached over and helped himself to one while he waited for the rest of the order. 

“I wasn’t.” Lance stuck out his tongue and grabbed a handful of twists. He bit into the whole handful and crunched as he stared at Keith. “Uff fuffy,” he said as cinnamon, sugar, and crumbs flew out of his mouth.”

“Thanks,” Keith said to the cashier as he took his card and receipt and the more modest bag of food. Then, to Lance, “What was that now?”

After a giant swallow, he answered, “You’re pretty.”

Coughing, Keith cleared his throat as he pulled the car out of the drive thru and into a parking spot. Hopefully, the dark interior of the car hid the hot flush across his cheeks and nose. “Thanks, I guess. You’re not too bad yourself.”

Lance leaned against the armrest, propping his chin up on his hand as the other continued to stuff twists into his face. “You really think so? Even like this?”

Reaching over to brush cinnamon away from the corner of Lance’s lips with his thumb, Keith gave him a little smile and a nod. “Yep. Even high as a kite and getting sugar all over my car.” 

“You know, you don’t make any sense. I don’t get you.” Lance licked his lips, trying to clean them. “Is it because you’re Southern or because you’re Keith?”

That certainly was not what he’d been expecting. “What?” Keith frowned. “What’d’you mean?”

“Well,” Lance began like he was starting a lecture, “If it’s because you’re Southern then maybe it’s something I’m missing, y’know?” He sat back and waved a twist at Keith. “I tried to Google it, but Google translate doesn’t have a Southern to West Coast translator. Other websites said it’s just ‘cause you’re nice. Are you nice?” He stuffed the twist in his mouth as he waited for the answer.

Keith’s frown deepened. “I...I guess so? What are you on about?” 

Lance sighed. “That’s what I was afraid of.” He stared out the window, crunching for a while before turning back with a smile. “I’m glad we’re friends, even if you are nice.”

Shaking his head in bafflement, Keith stole another cinnamon twist. “You’d rather I was an asshole? Shoulda met me a few years back, then.”

“That’s not what I mean and you know it.” Lance huffed back in his seat, kicking his feet onto the dash. “So what kind, then?”

“What kind of what?” Keith batted his feet back down. 

“What kind of guys do you like? Wait, don’t tell me. I bet it’s big, tough guys with like, muscles on their muscles and five o’clock shadows, huh?”

Keith froze. 

He ran a hand over his face, pressing his thumbs into his eyelids until he saw stars in the darkness. When he opened his eyes, he was still in the car and Lance was still waiting for an answer. 

“I’ve never dated anyone, so it doesn’t matter. Why are you asking me this?”

“You don’t have to date someone to have a type.” Lance shoved the bag of twists into Keith’s lap and dug around for his Mexican pizza. Pulling it out he, grabbed a slice and stuffed half of it in his mouth. “If Taco Bell gets cold it becomes inedible,” he explained around his fingers. “Anyways, I’ll tell you if you tell me.”

Keith chewed his lip - hard. 

“Someone...kind,” he began, rubbing his thumbnail over the pad of his finger nervously. “Funny. Sweet. I don’t know. Just...I never wanted to, because people always leave.” He glanced at Lance quickly, then back to his lap. “That’s about the only constant you can count on. So, it’s easier to just...not.”

“You just described Stella.” Lance was halfway through his pizza and looking at the taco as if calculating if he could eat both at once. Apparently the answer was yes, because he unwrapped it and stuffed it with pizza. “C’mon, use your imagination. It's a fantasy so he'll never leave you. What does he look like?”

“Lance,” Keith complained, thumbnail starting to leave a red indent in his forefinger. “I don’t...I don’t know, okay? I’ve never-"

"It's just pretend. You can use someone famous." 

“I just don’t see the point of -"

"There isn't one, it's for fun. If you don't give me an answer, then I'm not giving you one." 

“A lot like you!” Keith blurted, loud and desperate in the close acoustics of his car. “Pretty, blue-eyed, a smile to die for. Okay? A lot…” He sighed, and looked up at Lance, feeling helpless. “A lot like you.” 

Lance sat, taco-monstrosity halfway to his mouth, staring at Keith. He put it down, face pinched. Finally, he snorted, relaxing. "So, you like twinks. That's cool-“

Keith sighed, frustrated. “You can’t just use that word here, it’s -“

“You know, Cameron is bi and he has blue eyes.”

“You’re not listening! I don’t -“

“He was the one on the floor in front of the recliner." Lance’s eyes widened and he bounced in his seat. "Oh my God, you have a crush." 

Something dangerous and reckless clenched in Keith’s stomach, twisting his face and curling his hands into fists. He breathed through his nose to try and work through it, to think logically, to move beyond the impulse before he did anything truly stupid. 

As usual, it didn’t do jack shit. 

Unbuckling his seatbelt, he exited the driver’s seat and slammed the door, stalking around to the other side of the car and wrenching Lance’s door open.

Lance was staring up at him, reddened eyes wide and taco fallen in his lap. “Did I say something wrong?” 

Ignoring the question entirely, Keith reached over him and unbuckled his belt, divesting him of tacos and cinnamon twists before bodily hauling Lance from the car. 

He squeaked as his foot caught on the lip of the door and he stumbled in Keith’s arms. “Hey, what’s gotten into you?” 

Keith still refused to answer before Lance was lifted and planted on the hood of the car. Keith cupped his surprised, flushed face with both hands and stared hard into his glassy eyes.

“Yeah,” he said, voice rough with emotion. “You’re right. I do have a crush, and it scares the living hell out of me.”

Slow and unfiltered emotions passed over Lance’s face. Keith could watch as Lance’s brain worked out how he’d made it onto the hood of the car and watched him melt into Keith’s hands as if they’d just started touching and how his mouth dropped as Keith’s words finally processed. “Who’s scaring you so much?”

Keith sucked in a sharp breath that stuttered on the exhale. He tilted forward until their foreheads were touching and he let his eyes fall closed. 

“For a guy who wears glittery cut-offs,” he murmured, “You’re pretty fucking terrifying, Lance.” 

“I don’t own glittery cut-offs,” Lance said, as if that was the most important part of the sentence. Keith’s thumbs brushed over his lips. Lance’s eyes fluttered closed at the touch. 

“Look at me,” Keith insisted. “Open your eyes and look at me.” 

“No.” Lance shook his head.

“Please.”

A single tentative eye peeked out from behind dark lashes and a moment later its twin joined it, blinking slowly, softly, and shyly. 

“You,” Keith began, quiet and intense. “Scare me  _ so bad,  _ Lance, because I try and try to ignore it, but Christ, I  _ can’t  _ \- you - you’re -” He sighed, squeezing his eyes shut before opening them again, lost and desperate. “But you’re gonna leave, and that would just...I couldn’t take it.”

"You know, you're scariest. Like, every day you're around, I seem to gather more reasons to stay." Lance put his hands on Keith's face in a mirror of what he was doing, though less coordinated. His hands and the tips of his fingers as they wrapped around his face were harsher than Keith expected. 

"But, staying for a boy? Tell me, Keith Kogane, are you worth it?”

Keith shook his head, but Lance refused to be dislodged. “I’d never ask that of you, and you know it. You deserve to be where you’re happy. I don’t know if I can make up for all that by myself.” 

“If you mean California, I’m not sure if that’s where my heart is anymore.” Lance pressed against him. “Tell me where I should put my heart.”

Groaning, Keith shut his eyes, pulling Lance’s hips until they were flush. “See? Why would you say somethin’ like that, that’s fuckin’ terrifying.” 

“Did you drag me out of the car and away from my food just to tell me how scary I am? Because I’m starting to feel offended.”

Blowing out his breath, Keith straightened up and centered himself, finally looking Lance in the eye. “No. But I didn’t have much of a plan. I usually don’t, to be honest. But...we’re gonna do this right if we’re gonna do it.” The corner of his lips raised in a small, cautious smile. “Would you do me the honor of lettin’ me kiss you?” 

An emotion flashed across Lance’s face before Keith could identify it. “You’re so weird, but in a good way.” He tugged on Keith’s face. “I’ve been waiting months and you decide to do it the one night I get high. I see how it is.”

Keith snorted and made to pull away. “I won’t do it at all if you’re just gonna tease me.”

Lance wrapped his legs around Keith, holding him in place. “If you leave me hanging again, I swear I’ll move back tomorrow.”

By the time the ‘again’ snagged at Keith, he was already fitting his lips against Lance. It could wait, he decided, because - wow, okay, Jesus  _ fuck  _ did Lance have a nice mouth. His lips were full and soft and warm and everything Keith knew they would be and also so much more, and if ever there was something he wanted to do for the rest of his natural life, this was it. Lance probably knew it too, from the groan it pulled from his throat and the mindless way he pushed forward and opened his mouth immediately, practically begging Lance to explore.

He wasn’t disappointed. Lance’s tongue dove in as his hands melted down his neck and chest to snuggle themselves into his leather jacket. Lance was less sitting on the hood and more pressed against it as Keith held him up. He’d slipped off as soon as their lips touched, and Keith was the only thing stopping him from landing butt first on the asphalt. 

Keith tightened his grip, supporting Lance as best he could with the haze he was in. If he’d intended to be patient and gentle, that went right out the goddamn window, because Lance tasted better than he’d ever imagined. He sucked Lance’s tongue like he was starving, licked at his mouth and bit at his lips harder than he probably should have, but there was no way in hell Keith could hold himself back in that moment. His hands skated up Lance’s sides, shifting to support his weight with his thighs long enough to ease him down to his feet. 

He finally had to pull back and breathe when he started to get a little bit dizzy, but even then, Keith didn’t go far. He just dragged his top lip along Lance’s and murmured, “Of all the things I dreamed you’d taste like, it wasn’t cinnamon sugar. Can’t say I mind.”

“You dreamed about what I tasted like?” Lance’s tongue peeked out to lick his lips and caught Keith’s along the way.

With a surprising amount of gentle affection, given how keyed up he felt, Keith brushed the hair back from Lance’s forehead and gave him a soft smile. “Just about every night.”

“And you did nothing about it, ‘til now?” Lance playfully punched his shoulder. “We could’ve been kissing this whole time. I thought you only wanted to be friends.”

“I’m still not sure this was a good idea,” Keith admitted, running a hand through his hair. “I just...don’t think I could’ve held out any longer.” 

“All you’ve done is kiss me and it already sounds like I’m your biggest regret.” Lance pouted, tugging on his jacket. “I do one-night stands if that’s all you want.”

“No.”

Keith’s voice was firm, heated - almost angry. “Hell no. Maybe you do, but I don’t, and that’s the problem. I like you, Lance. I  _ really  _ like you, and I couldn’t stop it if I wanted to, so I might as well jump all in.” He brushed his thumb reverently along Lance’s swollen bottom lip. “If you’ll have me.”

“Uh, how about a date first, then we can talk about marriage.”

“Is that…” Keith’s nose scrunched. “Not what I was asking you for?”

“Is it? I can’t tell if I’m in  _ Gone with the Wind _ or not with the way you talk.”

The nose-scrunch devolved into a sulky pout. “Hey.”

“Yes.” Lance kissed his nose. “To the date, not the marriage.” 

Keith chuckled and pulled him in for a tight hug. “Guess I’ll take what I can get.” 

Lance wiggled until he could get his hand out and raised it to Keith’s face.

“...You’re not serious.”

Lance nodded as he wiggled his fingers.

“ForChristssake.” Keith took his hand and kissed the top of it, looking up at him over his knuckles. “May I have the pleasure of  _ calling on you _ , Mister Fuentes?”

“Thank you.” Lance put his arm down. “I’d like to request more kissing.”

“I’d be happy to oblige, but uh...maybe not in the Taco Bell parking lot?”

"You going to take me back to your place and show me some southern hospitality?" 

“ _ Wow. _ ” Keith smooshed his palm against Lance’s face, pushing him back playfully. “Not if you ever say  _ anything  _ like that again.” 

"Oh c'mon. It was a little funny." Lance put his hand over his heart and leaned back against the hood. "And frankly my dear, I don't give a damn.”

“Enjoy walking home.”

"Wind, wind, wind, wind." Lance fanned himself and laid down, propping one knee up. He craned his neck to look at Keith. "Am I doing it? Am I being Gone?" 

“Bye, Lance.” 

"No don't leave me," he whined and crawled pathetically over the hood to the driver's side. "I don't know the ways. What if someone starts playing slide guitar at me." He held out his hand, grasping. "Don't leave me to  _ die _ ."

Keith slid into his seat and started the car again. “I’ll send you a pineapple and call it even.” 

"A pineapple?" Lance scrambled off the hood and wedged his way between Keith and the steering wheel, sitting on his lap. "Kinky." 

With an annoyed huff, Keith sat back and crossed his arms. “I can’t tell how much of this is pot and how much is just you being a melodramatic brat.”

Lance shrugged and shifted in his lap so he could wrap his arms around Keith’s neck. “I’m not sure if I care now that I can touch you.” He captured Keith’s lips in a slow kiss that licked and nipped around the edges.

Keith hummed in surrender and slid his palms up the bare skin of Lance’s sides. 

It was turning into morning by the time Keith got Lance home. He pulled up to his complex just as the first peek of golden sun bathed the street in pale blue. They both smelled like fast food and they both looked like they’d stayed out all night. That didn’t stop either of them from prolonging the situation with a make out session in the car. 

When Lance finally left, Keith watched to make sure he got into his apartment safe and sound. Turning the car around, he drove home, trying and failing to keep a stupid, sappy grin from making his cheeks ache.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Autumn: You’re welcome
> 
> Sail: enjoy while it lasts <3
> 
> follow [Autumn Ignited](https://twitter.com/AutumnIgnited) they're the nice one  
> fallow [SailUnchartedWaters](https://twitter.com/SailUnchartd) if forgetting to reply to comments is your gender
> 
> Early access to chapters [are here](https://linktr.ee/sailunchartedwaters)


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like what we do? wanna hang out with us on Twitter? [Autumn Ignited](https://twitter.com/AutumnIgnited) and [SailUnchartedWaters](https://twitter.com/SailUnchartd)

~🌸~

Lance was in the middle of texting Keith when the phone call came. A random number from a local area code. He waited for his phone to hang up naturally and then went back to typing. 

[5:47 PM]: Hey, where you at? I just got off 

The little notification that whoever was calling had left a voicemail popped up. He swiped up to ignore it. 

His phone chimed as Keith responded with a GPS location. It was a more precise answer than Lance had been looking for, but that would do. 

Lance was about to reply, fingers hovering over the keyboard, when a text from Veronica popped up. He stared at the preview: ‘ _ Call me back, the doctor says abuelita _ —’

Yeah, yeah. He’d been with her on the last doctor appointment. He already knew that she needed to go back on whatever she’d been taking for her arthritis, even though it gave her heartburn. Veronica could stay out of his business; he was picking up Lita’s meds this weekend.

He swiped the notification away. He’d just started dating Keith and he wasn’t going to let worrywart Veronica stop him from having fun. Or doing something for himself, for that matter. It had been a pathetically long time since he’d done  _ that.  _

[5:51 PM]: Omw

Wherever Keith had planted himself was only a couple of blocks away, and the weather was perfect for a walk. The trees along the side streets were shedding pink and white petals, littering the brick sidewalks with color. Most of the shops had opted to leave their doors propped open, which meant he could hear music drifting in and out like waves as he passed by. 

The pastoral atmosphere was lessened somewhat when he arrived at the coordinates on the GPS. Lance glanced down at his phone and back up, peering warily at the wrought iron gate with a sign that read  _ Ellwood Cemetery.  _ The line between the sidewalk and the consecrated ground was the same line that divided dawn and dusk. Lance swallowed and texted Keith in a rush.

[6:24]: Uh, your directions were wrong. I ended up at a cemetery.

**Haystack [6:24]:** Nope, that’s right. When you come in make a right. Head for the angel.

“Head for the angel,” Lance muttered. Of course, his boyfriend hung out in cemeteries. He probably wrote bad poetry here, too. 

Lance wove between the headstones, careful not to step on the plots themselves. He wasn’t sure what the etiquette was, but he didn’t want anyone stepping on him in death, so he figured it would be polite to pay it forward in advance.

This definitely wasn’t one of the newer cemeteries – not that he was an expert, but the headstones were all crooked or chipped and extremely weathered. The plots were still well-tended, but the whole place felt old. Like,  _ old.  _ The occasional oak trees were huge and thick, like they’d been there since forever and the town was built up around them. Maybe it was; seemed like a Peach Springs kind of aesthetic. 

Down a shady, pebbled lane, past a few fenced-off plots where everyone had the same last name, there was an angel statue looking appropriately weepy and somber. She had weathered streaks streaming down her cheeks and a bouquet of leaves resting where they’d caught in her arms. To her right, there was another one of those massive oak trees, with a very distinct-looking work boot dangling down among its leaves. 

Lance gave it a tap. "Knock-knock, anyone up there?" 

“Nope,” the tree answered, “try again in about thirty seconds.”

Lance sat down, resting against the trunk. It might have been on the warmer side of spring that day, but the wind still made the shade slightly chilly. He closed his eyes and watched the light play through his lids. "I guess I'll just wait here then, until someone comes home." 

His phone vibrated again, and he ignored it, pushing the snippet he’d seen before from his mind. Eventually he’d get around to opening his texts, dealing with the latest round of nagging reminders from everyone else in his family — the ones nowhere near Peach Springs, who had no idea what he did on a daily basis — but right now he didn’t have the energy. This was supposed to be a fun date with his boyfriend, and he was determined to keep it that way.

It was more like a minute than thirty seconds, but without even a rustle of leaves for warning, Keith landed beside him with a loud thud. Lance yelped, hand over his heart. He'd almost forgotten why he was even sitting there or that Keith was above him. 

Keith was crouched with one hand on the ground and his sketchbook in the other like some sort of artistically inclined gorilla. He grinned at Lance as he twisted to sit beside him. 

“I’m home.”

"Welcome home," Lance greeted, body relaxing now that he knew it wasn't an escaped zoo animal trying to attack him. "I hope you brought me food ‘cause I'm starving." He immediately leaned into Keith's warmth, happy to have something to fight the shadowy chill. Without hesitation, Keith lifted his arm and pulled Lance to his side. 

“Me, too. Up to going to Stella’s? She won’t shut up about that weird fake burger stuff she ordered for ‘ _ all the people who want another option _ .’ And by that, she means you.”

Lance snorted, letting his head fall onto Keith's shoulder. He breathed in the leather of his jacket and the spice of his skin. "Yeah, sounds good. Wouldn't want it to go to waste." He tapped on Keith's notebook. "Drawing?" 

Keith kissed his hair. “Yeah. But it’s a surprise.”

"Aw, show me. I wanna see." Lance tried to grab at the book, but Keith must have anticipated this, because he held the notebook away with one hand and pulled Lance in for a kiss. 

“ _ Mmm _ ,” he hummed against his lips. Then gave him a last, chaste peck. “No.”

"Rude. If you're not going to show me then I demand three more kisses.  _ At least."  _

Keith chuckled. “Extortionist.” But he pulled Lance in again to oblige. 

Lance could kiss Keith forever. It was unfair, really. Unfair how perfect Keith's lips were and how comfortable he felt in his arms. All his movements, normally so hectic and electrified, became slow and soft. It was wonderfully terrifying, the way he lost all sense of himself whenever they kissed. And yet every time, before he could get well and truly far from shore, it would just...  _ end _ , leaving him chasing after something he was hesitant to catch. 

He didn't open his eyes as Keith gently pushed him away. Stubbornly, Lance grasped at his jacket, trying to bring them back together so he could finally figure out what it was that was hovering just out of reach. He wanted to ask, to demand that Keith explain why he kept pulling away when Lance always made it perfectly clear that he wanted nothing more than to keep going. 

If this was some kind of Southern Gentleman chivalry bullshit, they would have  _ words _ , but something made him hold his tongue. Maybe it was the twitch of Keith’s fingers — the way they gripped him a little tighter even as Keith’s lips pulled away — but Lance got the sense that Keith was wrestling with an internal chase of his own. 

_ It’s fine,  _ he told himself, demanded of himself.  _ We still have time. _

“You must not be  _ that  _ hungry—” Keith steered their momentum to kiss the tip of his nose instead, pulling them to a gentle stop. “—if you wanna stay here and make out in the cemetery.”

“I am,” Lance whined, finally opening his eyes. Doing so turned out to be quite rewarding, because he got an up-close look at how Keith’s cheeks were stained poppy-red, and his lips were bitten plump and shining.  _ Lance _ had made him look that way, all shy smiles under a layer of piercings, and it sent fireflies sparkling in his stomach. “But I thought you’d enjoy the morbid atmosphere. Thought it might get you in  _ the mood. _ ” 

Keith snorted and sat back against the tree, stretching out his legs until the toes of his heavy boots brushed the bottom of a rotten tombstone. “I like coming here to work or just decompress. Tourists never come here, so it’s always quiet. Cars are muffled, no one’s on the sidewalks. All you can hear is the wind in the trees or the rain.” 

“Sounds nice. Nice and creepy.” Lance patted Keith’s thigh. “Let’s eat before you turn into a nice, creepy ghost.”

“Yeah. ‘Cause if I did, you’d sure as hell never go on a ghost walk to come visit me.”

Lance nodded, pointing at him in agreement. Keith stood and hauled him to his feet like he weighed nothing, giving him an appreciative once-over and even a low, cheesy whistle. He didn’t even seem to notice he’d done it, either - the adorable loser. “You look cute. Special occasion?” 

“Just you.” He hip-checked Keith as he stepped passed and pulled him along. “Wouldn’t want you to forget why you picked me,” Lance said, winking. 

Keith grinned, easy and crooked, and tightened his hold on Lance’s hand. “Like I could.”

Hand-in-hand, they made their way back towards the main part of town. When they crossed the road onto Main Street, Lance expected Keith to let go. He was already pulling his hand away when Keith's fingers closed over his, holding him tight. He looked over at Keith.

Keith gave him a soft smile in return. “For as long as I have you, I don’t plan on lettin’ go.” 

Lance melted. He was a puddle only being held up by Keith’s hand. Who even  _ said  _ stuff like that outside of Hallmark movies? 

The already narrow span of Main Street constricted until it was just the two of them, their fingers laced together, and the scent of blooming Dogwood trees. People might have stared. They maybe even missed a turn. Lance had no idea, and he couldn’t possibly care less. For the first time since he’d moved, the space he was occupying was exactly the place he wanted to be in.

Too soon, Keith was opening the door to Goolrick’s and their world reluctantly expanded once more. As soon as they crossed over the old, tiled threshold, everyone else invaded their tiny sanctuary. Lance had to physically stop himself from walking right back out.

Stella looked up from filling a napkin dispenser and smiled through her candy-apple lipstick. “Hey, you two! Long time, no see!”

“I came in two days ago,” Keith argued. Stella waved him off and slammed the napkin dispenser down with a clang. 

“Picking up toothpaste doesn’t count. If you don’t have time to chat with little old me, it’s not even worth remembering.”

Lance bit his smile and elbowed Keith. It earned him a glare, but it was worth it. Their usual spot at the counter was empty so Lance dragged them over to sit in front of the shiny soda fountain - oldest in the nation, blah-blah, etcetera. 

“Wow,” he said with too much enthusiasm and feigned surprise. “Look, Keith, there’s a veggie burger!”

Keith looked distinctly unimpressed, as was his tone of voice. “Golly, Lance, is there? Why, what a  _ coincidence _ .”

Lance stuck out his tongue but quickly sucked it back in when Keith tried to grab it. “Ugh, at least I’m trying,” he mumbled, then louder, “Can I get one, Stell?”

Stella came around the counter and patted his back as she grabbed another empty dispenser. “My pleasure, hon. Y’all want your usual? One cherry, one chocolate?”

“Big cherry,” Keith countered, “two straws.”

Stella raised an eyebrow. “You don’t even like...  _ oh!” _ She looked between them and seemed to catch on, because her grin widened. “Gotcha. Big cherry, two straws.” 

She disappeared into the back as Keith turned to Lance, looking a little cowed and bashful. “If that’s... is that okay? I should have asked.”

“As long as I get the cherry on top. You can have the stem.” Lance couldn’t help bouncing. Even trying to will himself to stop so people wouldn’t stare wasn’t working. All the attention he’d been craving for weeks,  _ months _ , was all his and it was overwhelming. 

Keith chuckled and rested a hand on Lance’s thigh, rubbing it with his thumb. “I think I’ll leave that sort of thing to you. Doubt I’d do much but drool and embarrass you.”

“Oh, no.” Lance leaned over to press his lips next to Keith’s ear. “I was going to give it to you already tied.”

The color that rose on Keith’s neck and cheeks could rival any lipstick in Stella’s collection. “Lance!” He hissed. 

Giggling, Lance backed off, but his grin was painful. Smiles came easier recently. Not just after Taco Bell, but before that, too. He wasn't even sure when the smiles had taken over his homesickness, but he knew it had something to do with the man next to him. The bouncing returned, and this time he didn't hold back. The stool squeaked in time with his body and the footrest rattled under his feet. 

Still flushed, Keith quirked a little smile as he took Lance in. “You feeling energized there, Long Beach?”

"Maybe.  _ Maybe _ I've always wanted to share a shake with someone cute." Lance gripped the sides of the stool to ground himself. "I can't believe how disgustingly adorable you are. I'll never get over it." 

There was no other way to describe the slightly disgruntled, pursed-lip expression Keith gave him than a ‘sulky pout.’ “Maybe I just wanted cherry, too, and it’s less work for Stella to make one.”

"Uh-huh, sure. Keep telling yourself that, lover boy." 

Keith scoffed and kicked Lance’s stool hard enough to make it rock minutely. 

Their play fighting was interrupted by a giant pink ice cream soda landing in front of them. "Burgers will be out soon,” Stella said over their shoulders. “Enjoy." 

Two striped straws stuck out of the float with a cherry between them. Lance plucked the cherry out with a ' _ thanks, Stell,'  _ and popped it in his mouth. Stem and all. 

"You are soft, though,” he continued, muffled a little with the addition of flirty fruit. “Don't think after all this time I haven’t noticed the way you stick up your nose at my cherry soda." 

Keith bit at his lip, considered him, and sighed. “Not my first choice, no. But worth it to share with you.” 

Smirking, Lance placed the knotted stem on the counter and slid it over to Keith. "Taa-daa. But I guess you already know my skills now, don't you?" 

“I kept it,” Keith blurted out. 

“You kept what?” Lance blinked at him as he leaned to take a sip.

“The first cherry stem. I—um, I kept it.”

“Wait, what?” He paused, straw in his mouth and his words squeaking air against the plastic. “Why?”

Keith covered his face with one hand and peered down at the table. “I don’t know. I thought maybe you were flirting? At least I hoped you were and it— _ ugh _ , I shouldn’t’ve told you.”

Lance smirked and sipped the float. He broke off with a smack of his lips, licking them clean. “Good, because I was. I still am. Glad to know it worked.”

“You’re gonna kill me,” Keith muttered into his hand. 

“Hopefully only in the French sense.” Lance grinned as he took another sip. His gloating over Keith’s blush was interrupted when two plates of food slid into view. “Finally! I’m starved because  _ this _ starving artist over here—" Lance reached for his burger. The rest of his sentence was never finished because his space was invaded by a sudden influx of ginger fuzz and his hamburger was knocked from his hand. It landed in a mess on his plate.

“Keith!” said a shrill voice, and the girl from the General Store stepped back from the bear hug she’d locked Keith into. She hadn’t even gone around to hug him — just elbowed Lance and his burger out of the way to squeeze herself between them. 

“Maryanne, you let the poor boy eat,” Stella chastised, sliding them each a set of silverware from the other side of the counter. 

“Sorry, Missus S.” Maryanne smiled. She didn’t look at all sorry. Her hair tickled Lance’s face and he had to lean back to keep from eating it. 

“Excuse you,” Lance said, pouting at Keith, but it was hard to see over the curls. 

“Hey, Maryanne,” Keith said patiently, guiding her to the side so she was out of Lance’s way. She immediately draped herself across his back instead. 

She poked her lip out and pouted at him through about three layers of lip-gloss. “How come you weren’t back at Miller’s on Saturday?”

Keith smiled at Lance, a secret just for him. “It’s fun now and then but it’s not really our thing.”

“‘Our?’” She turned to Lance, as if seeing him for the first time. “Oh, hey, Mr. Fuentes. How are the aquathingies?”

Oh God, that made him feel forty. “Lance, and great. Also, we’re kinda having lunch right now.”

“Ooh, what are you having?” She leaned over Keith’s shoulder to eye his burger and fries. Her voice dipped, soft and flirty. “Think you can spare a fry, Keith?”

“Uh, sure?” Keith held one up for her. Instead of taking it, she leaned even further to bite it from his hand, eyeing him the whole time. 

Lance jumped up and pulled Keith’s hand away. “Woah, woah,  _ woah _ . Not cool. What are you, five?  _ Keith.”  _ He stared agape down at his boyfriend.

Keith blinked back at him. “What?”

“Go on, hellion.” Stella shooed Maryanne off Keith’s back, pressing a bag into her hands. “Take this to your daddy and leave these boys to their lunch. No one needs you breathing down their necks when they’re trying to enjoy a nice meal.” She winked at Lance, but her confused smile indicated she was still trying to process the concept of, ‘Meat-Free!’

Maryanne’s pout devolved into a sulk. “Yes, ma’am. Bye, Keith.”

“Take care.” Keith shook his head as the doorbell jingled, signaling her exit. He dipped a fry in ketchup and was about to pop it in his mouth when he caught Lance looking at him. “What?”

“Oh, I don’t know, the last three minutes, probably.” Lance huffed and sat down. “You should tell her.” 

“Tell her what?” Keith asked around his mouthful of potato. 

Okay. Lance had been here long enough to know that people weren’t  _ that _ stupid, so it had to just be Keith’s general obliviousness when it came to certain social cues. “Babe. You’re leading her on.”

Keith frowned. “I didn’t do anything!”

“The moon could see her crush; it's so big.” Lance turned to Stella. “Tell him that she has a crush on him.”

Stella patted Keith’s back sympathetically. “You’ve already gone and broken that poor thing’s heart and she doesn’t even know it yet.” The whole time she was talking, Lance gestured emphatically at her in agreement.

“What?” Keith squawked, turning to Lance in disbelief. “She’s like, twelve! She’s like a little sister or something. I was being friendly!”

Lance grabbed a fry off Keith’s plate and bit it. “Yeah, well, that’s not what she’s thinking, and you’re not helping by being nice. You need to tell her to her face that you’re not interested. Heck, that you’re taken. That’ll shut her up.”

Keith turned back to the door, looking distressed. “Do I... should I go track her down?”

Stella laughed and took their napkin dispenser. “No need to make a fuss. Just tell her the next time you see her. That should be enough to clear it all up. I’ll even make sure to have extra hazelnut for her next time.” At the last moment, she gave Lance a friendly little nudge. “And congrats.” 

“Oh.” Lance shrunk into himself, eyeing Keith. He could feel the dumbass grin aching against his cheeks. “Yeah, cool. Thanks.” 

He wasn’t sure how much he enjoyed the idea of the entire town knowing, and now that Stella knew, the entire town was going to know. They might as well print it in the  _ Peach Springs Gazette _ or whatever stone tablets they still published around here. 

But, Keith seemed confident enough about them being out, so Lance wasn’t going to let him down just ‘cause of some bad stereotypes and a handful of douchebags that really knew how to ruin a barbecue. 

Keith was still looking out the front window. He turned back to Lance, his expression wary, like he was braced for a lecture he knew he deserved. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize.”

“It’s fine.” Lance elbowed him and linked his foot around Keith’s ankle. “You’re going to tell her, and everything will be fine. No harm, no foul, yeah? Yeah. Let’s eat.”

“You know I only like you, right? I told you that? You’re the first person I ever — the  _ only  _ one I ever—" Keith huffed, frustrated and embarrassed. “I have no idea what I’m doing.”

“Woah, Keith.  _ Keith. _ ” Lance dropped his fries and cupped Keith’s face, careful not to get his greasy fingers on him. “Hey. No one thought you liked her back. No one was thinking that. I know you like me, yeah?” He nudged Keith with his nose. He smelled like ketchup. “The only thing you need to do is be yourself, okay?”

Keith pushed forward and kissed him, rocking his stool in the process so it squeaked against the floor. When he drew back, he nodded and gave Lance a grateful smile. “Thanks.” 

Lance’s stomach flopped in giddy circles. “Of course. Anytime.” He pulled away slowly but kept their feet entangled. “But I wouldn’t say no to an apology coffee.”

“I swear,” Keith said, too busy fighting a smile to sound stern. “I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: you’re the biggest extortionist I have ever met.” 

“Too bad for you, you always give in.” Lance’s phone buzzed and he shoved his hand in his pocket to silence it.  _ Not yet, _ he thought at it.  _ Soon. But not yet.  _

Keith shrugged and smiled. “Yeah, well. Cherry’s not so bad.”

~🌸~

The walk from Goolrick’s to Nemo’s Garden and Area 51 was way too short. They made it back within ten minutes, which was just not enough time to be holding hands, in Lance’s opinion. 

Red had other ideas on how long they’d been gone, and was doing her customary dance in the window, digging at the glass with her front paws and chastising them in a muffled yowl. 

“You be quiet,” Keith chided her. “You didn’t even notice when I left.” 

"I understand how she feels. She just misses you. Like I will in, like, two seconds." Lance didn't normally let himself spill the truth so easily, but he was still giddy, even just from holding hands. 

Keith sighed and glanced across the street at Nemo’s Garden. “Was it always this hard to say goodbye?” 

“Pretty sure I used to throw mail in your face and run.” His heart quickened as the next words spilled without second thought. “But—uh, I still have time if you want to—" He finished his sentence by sneaking a hand under Keith’s shirt and pushing him just enough that he stumbled into the wall.

Keith sucked in a breath and locked eyes with him, instantly focused. He caught Lance by the wrists and pulled him close. “Yeah. I do. Where?”

“You have a couch. Or maybe you’d prefer the back alley.” Lance leaned in, getting close enough for Keith’s jeans to scratch his thighs. “Heck, here is fine for me.”

“Inside,” was all Keith managed to get out before he was shaking out his keys and unlocking the door one-handed. With the other, he pulled Lance inside and immediately crowded him up against the front desk. 

“You taste like cherry soda,” he murmured against Lance’s lips, tugging softly at the bottom one with his teeth until it snapped back. 

“That’s because you barely drank any.” Lance's body was completely focused on everything Keith was doing – every touch, every kiss, every hot breath. His mind, however, was zooming across the room, assessing the layout and trying to guess how much time they had. 

This was it. This was where he was going to lose his virginity – and to  _ Keith. _ It wasn’t ideal; not nearly as romantic as Lance had dreamed, but it was hot and unique and would make a good story. He moaned as he dragged Keith to the back room, bumping against the corners of walls and sliding along the backsplash of glow-in-the-dark sky. 

They hit the edge of the faded rug before Keith hoisted him up by the thighs, just enough to lay him reverently down on the couch. Keith followed him, crawling over Lance and blocking out the colored lights in a muted halo. His face was flushed, and he looked caught somewhere between desperate and scared. 

“I want you,” Lance whispered, running a thumb over Keith’s cheekbone as he searched his eyes. “But it doesn’t have to be here, right now,” he half-lied.

Keith’s chest was pressing into him with every hard rise and fall of breath. He slipped his fingers under the hem of Lance’s shirt to brush against the soft skin of his waist. 

“I don’t know if I can wait much longer,” he admitted, fervent and almost ashamed. 

Lance lifted his hips into Keith’s touch with a gasp. “I want to. You don’t have to wait.” He pulled Keith down and dove into his mouth. Everything about touching Keith was perfect, from his rough hands to the soft fat on his sides. He lifted his arms, and it wasn’t even a full second before Keith understood and tugged his shirt up to his armpits. There wasn’t going any higher since they were still connected, but that didn’t stop Keith’s over-warm hands from roaming. 

Keith ground his hips down, rolling against Lance on instinct as he kissed his way from jawline to collarbone. “You’re –  _ hha –  _ fuck, Lance, want you  _ so bad _ .” 

Soft music played as Lance clung to Keith. The song was familiar in an annoying way, but there were more important things to worry about, like Keith’s lips and the hardness growing between them.

“Think that might be your phone,” Keith murmured.

“It’s fine.” Lance pulled Keith back down as the music ended.

It immediately began again. Keith sat back and nodded at his pants. “You wanna get it?”

“Ugh, one second. Let me just—" Apparently, he’d switched it from vibrate to sound at the pharmacy instead of mute. Stupid that was just like himself to ruin something he'd been looking forward to. 

His heart dropped when he saw the caller ID. Not Veronica, which meant... 

Something was _very_ _wrong_.

He swiped the answer button and held up a finger to Keith. “Mom?” 

His mother immediately launched into rapid Spanish. Lance frowned and sat up. Nausea welled up and he tried to swallow it down. 

“Whoa, Mama – slow down. What do you mean  _ not okay _ ?” He asked, breathless and quiet.  _ No, no, no, _ his mind screamed over his mother’s words. He should’ve answered his phone, but he'd been selfish. He was always stupidly selfish. 

The worry and self-loathing were leaking out of him in waves. Keith tried to pull him close, probably to comfort him. It was too much. 

The high from making out came crashing down with a wave of frosty panic that had every nerve on overdrive. The last thing he needed was to be touched. He didn’t even think as he pushed Keith away and stood, pacing as he listened. His mom kept asking where he was, where he’d been, and why he hadn’t been answering his phone. He didn’t have a good answer. 

By the time he hung up, Lance was shaking, nausea burning in his throat. 

“What is it?” Keith asked softly. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s—" Lance took in a shaky breath as he hugged himself, rocking. “It’s Lita. She fell getting out of the tub and hit her head. They’re keeping her in the hospital overnight for observation. I should have— I wasn’t there, and I  _ knew, _ or I thought I knew, but didn’t—I didn’t want to. I wanted to do...  _ this _ .” 

Keith opened his mouth, clearly ready to protest, but shook his head. “I’ll cancel my evening appointments. Then we can go see her?”

Lance shook his head. "I need to go. I need to be there. No one else can." The ground was so far away, and the room was so crowded. 

His phone dinged and Lance mashed down on the volume button. Everyone just needed to shut up for a moment. It was too loud. His mother’s internal voice overlapped with his own stream of consciousness, both chastising and accusing him. He wanted to press his hands over his ears to try and drown out his own head, but then what would Keith think of him? He gripped his phone like a lifeline.

“Okay,” Keith’s soothing voice cut through the chaos. He opened his hands in invitation, but Lance didn’t move. “Let me give you a ride. It’s too far on your bike. Please.”

Lance bounced on his toes to keep himself from bolting out the door or throwing his phone down. He bit and chewed at his lower lip, and the sting of it helped to ground him in his own body. He blinked at Keith, whose arms were still outstretched, hesitant and inviting. They’d barely started this thing between them, yet Keith was already there for him in ways no one else could be. 

Fuck it. He collapsed into Keith’s lap, curling himself into a tight ball as Keith ran his fingertips up and down Lance’s arm, just light enough to let him know he wasn’t alone.

“Yeah, okay,” he managed, small and shuddery. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” Keith hummed in acknowledgement and kept up his light ministrations. “Give me just a few minutes, and we’ll go.”

From that moment on, Lance felt a bit like a puppy as he held onto Keith’s shirt and followed him around the shop. He didn’t let go, even as Keith called each appointment to cancel. Now and then, Keith would squeeze his hand or pull him close for a quick hug, but for the most part, he just let Lance hang off him however he liked. The electric thrum of emotion and adrenaline kept him in a constant roller coaster of touch aversion. He would go from clinging to Keith with all his might to stepping back and hooking a finger through a belt loop just to stay connected. 

“Okay. Thanks a lot, I appreciate it. Yep, see you Thursday. Bye.” Keith hung up his last call and held his palm out for Lance to take – or not. “Ready?”

Lance hooked their pinkies together and nodded.

~🌸~

Ewell County Municipal Hospital was small as hospitals went, but it still felt as if it took years to arrive, park, and track down his grandmother. She was being held in the ICU even though her injury was not classified as “intensive,” primarily because they had more beds and manpower. It still didn’t make him feel good to see the words INTENSIVE CARE UNIT over the ward, regardless of the reason. 

Keith stayed by his side the whole time, a silent presence aside from the occasional comforting murmur. He hadn’t tried to hold Lance again, but he would press a hand against his lower back every once in a while, as if to say “ _ you're not alone _ .” The hallways were quiet, save for the white noise of a few TVs going on in private rooms and the beeping of machinery. 

Lance still didn’t understand why Keith was there, why he’d want to stay. Sure, they were together now, but certainly not for very long and definitely not enough to care about his—

Right. Keith knew Lita before. That was both comforting and not at the same time. It was nice that Keith cared but it made him feel just slightly less special, which only made him angry with himself all over.

Once they reached Lita’s room, Keith held back. “I’ll come with you, if you want, or I’ll go wait downstairs. Or you can call me when you’re ready. Just – whatever you need.” 

“She’s special to you, too. You should come in.” For the first time since the phone call, Lance held his hand out to Keith. 

Keith took it and his shoulders dipped, as if he’d been steeling himself for a different answer. Giving Lance’s hand a squeeze, he pulled the curtain aside. 

The little room was dark, quiet, and as unfeelingly sterile as hospital rooms always were. The mounted television was on with the volume muted, and the reflection of it flickered on the windowpane where the sun had almost set. 

The hospital bed made his grandmother look unsettlingly small. She was a petite woman by nature, but the IV drip and large bed rails gave the illusion that she was little more than a bundle of twigs in blue linen. 

Lance did his best to ignore the blooming bruises from where she’d been poked, and the tape binding tubes to her wrists. “Lita, it’s Lance,” he whispered, slipping into Spanish at her familiar face. “I brought Keith.”

Her lashes fluttered before cracking open and her dozy gaze roamed over his face. She broke into a wide – if weak – smile and raised the hand with the IV toward him. “My sunshine!” She answered back, voice hoarse. “Come in, come in.”

Keith started walking before Lance and they stumbled a little as they got closer. Lance leaned over to give her a hug and she was all paper and bones. “You don’t look dressed to leave. Do I gotta sneak you out of here?”

She scowled, not at all kidding. “They’re holding me hostage. I told them it was a silly little accident, and now they tie me up and keep me here!” Her face softened as she smiled at Keith and switched to English. “Hello, Keith!”

“Hi, ma’am.” Keith took the seat on the other side of her bed, eyes going between the two of them. “Hope you don’t mind the intrusion. I just wanted to give Lance a ride.”

The smirk she turned on Lance was knowing, her tone in Spanish smug. “And did he?”

“Ugh,  _ Abuelita _ , not this again. He’s just—" Lance blinked. He was so used to being defensive about Keith he forgot he didn’t need to be anymore. Clearing his throat, he turned to Keith and said for both of them, “yeah, it was really nice of my boyfriend to give me a ride.”

His grandmother squealed – or as much as a woman in her 80s on who-knew-what-kind of drugs could squeal. It was raspy, but still delighted. “Good! Good. That makes me very happy. You make sure you feed him. He never eats.” 

Keith looked bewildered and raised his eyebrows at Lance in question. 

Lance shrugged. “No one ever eats enough for Lita.”

She nodded in agreement. “Including me! All they feed me is pudding. Tastes like plastic!”

“Why are they keeping you here if you’re fine? You don’t look like you have any broken bones to me.” Lance sat on her bed and scooped her wrinkled hand in his. His free leg swung, the heel tapping against something metal at the bottom of the bed. Each tap sent a little jolt of pleasure through his leg and up his spine.

“It’s the money,” she replied grumpily. “They need to fill these beds, so they kidnap old ladies and hold them prisoner!”

“I see our patient is awake and spitting fire again,” came a voice from the doorway. A woman in her late forties with dark skin and a flawlessly starched lab coat pushed the curtain aside and let it fall behind her. She pursed her lips and fixed Mariposa with a stern look.

“The prison guard,” Lita hissed at him in Spanish. Lance covered his smile while trying to look composed for the doctor.

The doctor rolled her eyes and stuck out her hand to Lance. “Hi, I’m Doctor Johnston, and family resemblance tells me you must be a grandson.”

Lance smoothed his face, only the corners of his smile giving him away. “Yeah, Lance. Sorry she’s giving you trouble. I’m here to take her off your hands.”

Her expression shifted into something more pinched. “I see. Could I speak to you outside for a moment?”

That wiped the rest of his smile away. He looked down at his grandmother, confused. “What’s she talking about?” He asked secretly. Hopefully the doctor didn’t know any Spanish. The chances were probably lower here than they were in California. 

Mariposa shrugged and took Keith’s hand in hers. “Just let her say I must drink more milk and take my vitamins so we can go home. Keith will entertain me.”

“Keith will what now?” Keith piped up, evidently having picked up his name and nothing else.

Dr. Johnston held the curtain open and gestured outside. “It will only take a moment.”

“I’ll be right back,” he said to them and slipped off the bed. He followed the doctor out and when the curtain closed, the hallway felt cold and serious. Lance wrapped his arms around himself. “So, shoot, what’s up?”

She sighed, and the sudden slump of her shoulders sent the beading in her braids clacking against each other. “Your grandmother didn’t just fall out of the blue, I’m afraid. After further testing, we believe this was a result of a lack of spatial awareness. I can go into the details if you like, but I thought you may prefer to have your family together for it. I’ll be brief.” Her eyes softened, as did her tone. “We’re fairly certain your grandmother is in the beginning stages of Alzheimer’s.” 

“Alzheimer’s?” Lance dug his nails into his skin. “Like... you mean she’s going to forget about me?”

“Not necessarily.” Dr. Johnston’s professional manner slipped into something kinder. “It’s early onset, and there are things we can do to slow its progression. But we need to convince her to accept the truth so we can begin a treatment plan.”

Lance blinked back the sting of tears. He was just supposed to care for her flower shop, not… not  _ this _ . For the first time in years, Lance wished he had his mom. She’d know what to do, what to say, how to convince Lita. “I don’t really feel comfortable deciding anything. Can it wait? At least until my brother can come down?”

“How long would that take?” Dr. Johnston frowned. “I would really feel better about letting her go if I knew she wasn’t alone. Would you like to get your family on the phone so we can hold a conference call?”

“Yeah—uh, hold on.” 

As soon as he heard his mother’s voice, relief flooded through him. He handed his phone to the doctor and let the adults handle the big decisions. Well, he was an adult, but this was his grandmother’s _ life _ . He wasn’t ready to make that kind of choice. 

Between his mother, his brother, and the doctor, it took about a half hour to decide what to do. Since his brother couldn’t be there, it came down to putting Lita in temporary care at the old folks’ home, or Lance abandoning the shop to care for her. 

Lance hated the wave of relief that swept over him when his mother decided on the home. He should be happy to care for Lita.  _ But, _ a small part of his brain argued,  _ you actually like working at the shop. _

When everything was decided and the doctor handed back his phone, he was told that visiting hours were almost over, but that he’d need to be back tomorrow to sign forms. He thanked her and steeled himself as he walked back.

Keith was laughing at something Lita was saying, but the minute he saw Lance, his face fell into concern. 

“So long!” his grandmother chastised him. “ _ Now  _ can we go? Is she satisfied?”

Lance sighed, running a hand through his hair. 

“I’m sorry, Lita, but it looks like—"

Before he even finished his sentence, Lita was arguing with him. Immediately Lance felt five again, and he gripped the insides of his shoes with his toes, trying to keep from falling back in time.

~🌸~

It took until they were kicked out of the hospital to calm his abuelita down, and even then she wasn't happy about his mother’s decision. Not that Lance could blame her; who would be? In the end, he was almost grateful for Doctor Johnston’s firm insistence that Lance had to go, and they could all regroup in the morning after they’d gotten some sleep. It gave him a reason to withdraw, both physically and internally. 

He couldn’t even feel Keith’s hand as he dragged Lance out of the hospital and into fresh air. He didn’t remember putting on his seat belt or slouching until his knees pressed into the dash and his feet dangled in the air. He wasn’t even sure how long they’d been driving, butter-yellow slices of street light passing through the window and reflecting on the buttons of his shorts, before Keith cleared his throat. 

“Hey…” he began.

Lance watched the dark street as it passed. The lights were too far apart, the shadows too long to really see anything beyond the edge of the road. He tried to acknowledge Keith in some way but all that came out of his throat was a gravely, “ _ hm? _ ”

Keith’s hand hovered over Lance’s shoulder before he opted to put it back on the wheel instead. “I promise I don’t mean this the way it sounds but... do you want to stay over tonight? You can take my bed, I’ll sleep on the couch, if you want. I just—" He sighed. “I don’t like the idea of you being alone.”

Lance shook his head, and then realized Keith couldn’t see him. “Thanks, but I’m okay. You don’t have to worry.” He did his best to smile and make his voice as normal as possible, but even to his own ears he sounded thin and fragile. 

“You don’t have to pretend around me, you know.” Keith’s voice was gentle, but his eyes were fixed on the road. “I spent a lot of time lying about being okay. I know what it sounds like.”

“I’m not lying,” Lance huffed, sinking deeper into the seat. His knees ached from being pressed against the dash, but he didn’t feel like moving. “It’s just—it’s not something you need to worry about. You’ve already done so much.” The end of his word hitched as he tried to push his feelings down. This was all too overwhelming; his grandma, his family, Keith, this town, all of it was  _ too much _ and he just wanted to stop feeling.

Voices of his friends and family and past exes screamed in his head,  _ lazy, selfish, do you even care, you're so cold _ . Lance tucked deeper into himself.

Keith sighed. “Of course, I worry. It’s not an obligation, Lance. I…” The rest of the sentence was mumbled, too low to hear over the ambient sounds of the car. 

Lance didn’t ask. There was too much going on in his head to worry about Keith. And maybe that was unfair, but he didn’t have the brain power to spare. 

The drive was mostly silent after that. By the time they pulled up to Lance’s apartment, Keith’s lips were pursed tight with unsaid words, the lines of his shoulders pulled rigid. He turned off the car and pulled the keys from the ignition.

“At least let me walk you to your door?”

“Yeah, sure,” Lance said, but didn’t move. He couldn’t bring his muscles to care enough. The car was comfortable, his misery was comfortable. Maybe Keith would just let him wallow there. 

That lasted almost a full minute before Keith unlatched his seatbelt and walked to the passenger side. He opened the door and held out his hand. “Come on.”

It was like trying to move through water as he reached out for Keith. The seatbelt jerked him back and he glared at it like it’d betrayed him. It took a moment of struggling and a lot of Keith’s help to get unbuckled and untangled. 

Keith led the way to Lance’s own apartment. He followed behind reluctantly, every step like lead weight as he climbed. 

Lita was sick. Permanently sick. So sick that his mom had placed her in a home. So sick that he’d almost had to quit his job and care for her. California felt further and further away with every step, and he didn’t have the capacity to parse through the storm of emotions that welled up inside him. Swallowing, he pushed down his thoughts and his feelings. Keith was still here after all; he needed to put on a smile.

When they reached his front door, Keith stood to the side under the floodlight while Lance dug for his keys. He put his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket and waited until Lance had the key in the lock before he said, “you’ll call me if you need me?” 

“Yeah.” The deadbolt clanked with a finality that echoed through Lance as the lock slid open. “Thanks. For all of it,” he said to the door, smile heavy on his lips.

“Is. Um.” Keith shifted his weight, looking down at the wooden floor. “You can say no if it’s too much but… can I kiss you goodbye?” 

Lance pulled the keys from the bolt and stuffed them in his pocket before he turned to face his boyfriend, movements stilted because this was so new that the concept felt foreign even in his mind. “Yeah, of course,” he said, light and carefree as possible.

Immediately, Keith’s hands came out to frame Lance’s face. He leaned in and pressed their lips together, soft and sweet, rubbing his thumb over Lance’s cheek. It was about as chaste as a goodnight kiss could be, and it wasn’t long before Keith pulled back. Always pulling away. 

“‘Night, Flower Boy.” 

Lance dug his fingers into Keith’s shirt, holding him there. He didn’t deserve Keith and he didn’t have the right to ask more of him than he’d already given.  _ Still. _

“No,” he whined. The last person he wanted to be alone with now was himself.

Keith ran a hand through Lance’s hair. “No?”

“Sorry.” Lance closed his eyes, leaning into Keith’s hand. With all his willpower, he forced his fingers to let go. “It’s selfish. Red needs you, you should go.”

“Oh.” Instantly, the hand rubbing circles against his scalp pulled him close so Keith could kiss his forehead. “She’s got her kibble. She’ll be fine. You want me to stay?”

Hesitantly, Lance nodded, finally letting himself cling fully to Keith. “Sorry,” he mumbled again against the humidity of Keith’s skin. 

Keith wrapped him up, warm and tight. “Shh, don’t be. I didn’t want to go.”

“I’m not going to be very good company and you’re not going to like my food and I haven’t done dishes since yesterday and actually, this is probably a bad idea.”

“Shh,” Keith repeated. “You think I care? I sleep on the couch at work and wear the same three t-shirts in rotation.” He pulled back enough to give Lance a little smile. “And you still agreed to date my sorry ass.”

“I guess I did, huh?” That earned him a nudge and Lance felt a little lighter as he pulled Keith into his apartment. 

It was... not great. 

Possibly more Not Great than he remembered. 

His clean clothes were stacked up on the couch, his laptop was on the floor surrounded by blankets and pillows and his Switch, dead now since he’d forgotten to put it back on its charging dock, was nestled among a few empty mugs. They had to step over all the unopened mail piling up on the floor by the door. The only nice thing about his apartment were the dozens of plants that he’d crammed onto every surface and into every corner. 

He paused next to the couch, debating on whether he should move the couch-pile of laundry into his room-pile of laundry, or if it was already too late. “So, this is it. Normally I’d have cleaned up before you came. Sorry you had to see it like this.” He did decide to tuck a pair of underwear deeper into the pile at least.

Keith just shrugged, smiling as he took it all in. “Well, now I know for sure what you would’ve thought of my place if you think this is bad. But seriously, don’t worry about it.” Like a magnet, he pressed against Lance’s back again and wrapped him in a loose hug. “Can I do anything? Get you anything?”

“Are you hosting me in my own apartment?” He snorted a half-laugh.

“I’m trying to take care of you,” Keith countered, “but you’re sure being stubborn about it.”

Oh.

“How about some dinner, then? We kinda missed it.”

Keith glanced over at the kitchen. “Well... I make an excellent canned soup. I know how to use the microwave to really bring out the flavor.”

Lance’s rusty smile loosened into a full grin. “Think you’re good enough to boil some water?” He asked, leaning against Keith’s chest. “I can make some sauce if you can handle the noodles.”

_ “Mmm.” _ Keith narrowed his eyes with an uncertain hum. “First time for everything.”

“Wait, seriously?”

Keith shook his head and chuckled. “I’m not that helpless. Just show me where you keep your pots.”

In another half hour, they were seated on the floor around Lance’s coffee table with bowls of pasta. Their forks clinked as they twirled spaghetti and now and then one of them would slurp. 

Keith set his fork down and hesitantly broke the silence. “... Do you—um… want to talk about what happened?”

Lance swallowed his mouthful. “It’s not a big deal,” he said, shrugging. “She has early Alzheimer’s. She’s old, y’know? It was bound to happen eventually.”

“Lance.” Keith’s voice was gentle, but stern. “Of course, it’s a big deal. She’s your grandmother. This has got to be hard.”

"I mean, sure, but it's fine. My mom is handling it and I got you." He grinned at Keith as he leaned over to scoop in another bite.

Keith caught him under the chin and lifted his face, just enough so their eyes met. His entire expression was pinched with concern. “You’re allowed to be sad, you know.” 

Lance froze, his whole body stiffening. 

No one had ever said that to him before. 

He was the happy friend, the one that everyone could turn to when they needed it. His family relied on him to be strong and self-sufficient. The clown, the goofball; the one whose entire job was to lift others up when they were down. 

It’s why Lita called him ‘Sunshine.’

Mouth full of spaghetti, lips covered in sauce, and with his face cradled gently on Keith’s fingers, Lance crumpled. Even as it happened, he knew it wasn’t pretty. It was the complete opposite of how anyone cried in movies. One of the noodles dropped onto his lap as tears poured down his face. He swallowed and tried to fish the noodle from his leg, but it only squished between his fingers. For some reason, that only made him cry harder. 

Keith almost knocked over his spaghetti as he shuffled around and gathered Lance into his arms. He didn’t say anything, but his hold tightened with every fresh round of tears. 

Lance wasn’t even sure he’d processed what this diagnosis meant for Lita and his family, or what it meant for him and his life. He knew Lita was old and he’d always kind of understood that she’d eventually pass away. He just assumed he’d be an adult. Well, he was an adult, so why didn’t he feel like one? He clung to Keith, wetting his shirt with tears, snot, and spaghetti sauce. 

He had no idea how long he’d been crying when his body started to exhaust itself, but it must’ve been a while because his head hurt. Sniffling and sweaty from the outpour of emotions, Lance touched one of the red stains. “I ruined one of your three shirts,” he said, voice hoarse. 

“Nah.” Keith rubbed circles into his back, alternating between a flat palm and light scratching. “Nothin’ a little bleach won’t fix, and if not, plenty of plain white shirts in the world.”

“Why?” he asked, doing his best to keep Keith there and touching him.

Keith shrugged. “I dunno, because white matches everything?”

“No. I mean why are you still here? Why are you doing this—" he said, waving his hand at the situation. “—for me? We haven't been dating long, and most people… I mean this is a lot.”

“Oh.” Keith was quiet for a few moments while he gathered his thoughts. “I mean, you were my friend first. And I don’t have that many, but the ones I do, I really cherish, you know? Regardless of how long we’ve been going steady, doesn’t change the fact that I still care about you.” The last sentence was a little thin, a little bashful, but still delivered in a tone of voice that said Keith wasn’t about to hear any arguments on the subject. 

The words sunk into Lance’s skin, letting them protect him against the world. Relaxing, he hummed his approval and finally allowed himself to enjoy the soft circles Keith was drawing on his back.

It was nice to have someone. He’d felt so alone since he’d left California. Now that he thought about it, this was the first time he’d heard a voice other than his own in this apartment. It was… more than nice. Keith had even said—

Lance’s eyes flew open and he pulled back to stare at Keith. “Did you just say  _ going steady _ like this is  _ Grease _ ?”

Keith’s eyebrows drew down over dark eyes. “Don’t push it.”

“Well you have to be Sandy and I get to be… did he have a name? Was it Danny?”

“How the hell should I know?”

“What do you mean, how the hell should you know? Haven’t you ever seen  _ Grease _ ? You’re like, a copycat of James Dean, but hotter.”

Keith raised an eyebrow. “Thank you? I think. But no, I haven’t. I was trying to be supportive, but if you’re gonna rag me, I’ll eat your spaghetti.”

"You already are." Lance tapped his nose. "This is all my spaghetti." 

Playfully, Keith snapped his teeth at Lance’s finger. He smiled at the giggle that earned him. 

“You feelin’ any better?”

Lance thought about it. It was really easy for him to ignore his own emotions and pretend everything was fine. If he dug deep, he could tell that he was still scattered and unsure, but it was refreshing to cry. "A little," he said honestly, "I should take a shower though, and you need a clean shirt."

Keith pushed a loose lock of hair behind Lance’s ear and dragged a knuckle down his cheek as he sat back. “Go ahead. I’ll clean this stuff up.” 

“Thanks. But don’t do the dishes. Those are mine and you’re my guest.” He stood and stretched, grabbing a towel off the couch. “Feel free to wear anything in this pile. It’s all clean, just a little wrinkled.”

“Will do. Now go on.”

Lance made his shower as quick as he could, except for one point where he stared listlessly at the wall, watching the water drip and another where he picked at his bellybutton as he tried not to think about Lita. So, maybe not quite as fast as he could be, but still. It helped knowing that there was someone outside that would make leaving the warm water worthwhile. 

By the time Lance emerged, hair damp and skin dewy, Keith was tucked into a corner of the couch playing on his phone. He’d opted for the t-shirt Luis had gotten him before he’d moved out, though the big, loopy-lettered ‘ _ I’m quite FROND of plants!’  _ looked very different on someone with enough piercings to set off a metal detector. There were also two mugs of tea on the coffee table, giving off curls of steam. 

Keith glanced up at him and then to the mugs, lips tight with uncertainty. “I hope I did it right. I just microwaved the water. And stuck a bag in. First one I found, since I figured you must like it best.”

“You look cute,” Lance blurted out, holding his towel tighter. This was the downside of piles; all his clean underwear was out here while his pajamas were in the room-pile. “You should wear pink more often.”

Keith made a face. “It’s just about the only normal shirt in here. Both sleeves and covers the belly and everything. Drink your leaf water.” His cheeks matched the shirt in the low light of the room, and he was pointedly looking at the table. 

Lance walked over to the pile of laundry and bent to kiss the top of Keith’s head as he grabbed the hidden ball of underwear. If Keith had found it, he’d been kind enough to put it back. “Let me get dressed and I will.”

_ “Mmf _ .” Keith took a noisy sip of his tea. 

It took only a few seconds for Lance to throw on his underwear and a loose pair of sweats. He hopped his other leg in as he returned, too anxious to get back to Keith to care about wearing a shirt. He settled down next to Keith’s legs on the floor and held the mug to his face. “Thanks, man. For like, everything and more.”

Keith rubbed at the back of Lance’s neck, digging his thumb into a knot he found. “You don’t have to thank me. I’ll be here for whatever you need. I care about her, too.”

That same jealous sinking from the hospital came back and he pushed it away. It was dumb and pointless. Keith was allowed to like Lita and Lita could like Keith; it had nothing to do with him. Or rather, it could potentially have something to do with him in a fuzzy future where Keith knew other members of his family just as well, but that wasn’t a line of thinking he had the capacity to follow right then. 

“I know.” He leaned into Keith’s fingers. “And you care about me,” he added, shamelessly fishing for a compliment.

“Yes, I do,” Keith confirmed quietly. 

Lance let his head rest on Keith's knee and looked up at him. “Me, too. I mean not me, you.” He sighed. “You know what I mean.”

He could hear the smile when Keith repeated himself. “Yes, I do.” 

“Good. I’m glad.” Lance closed his eyes as Keith’s hand ran across his forehead. “Tomorrow-Lance has to worry about his grandma and his flower shop, but Tonight-Lance only wants to worry about tea and snuggling his boyfriend.” 

He could hear the soft huff of laughter from above him, laced with palpable fondness. “I think that’s a great plan.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Autumn: I wish I could say I didn’t know exactly what this graveyard looks like because I never went there to write shitty poetry in high school, but, ah....
> 
> .....anyway nice weather we’re having....
> 
> Sail: omg i can't believe how so many people freaked out by my comment *passes out blankets to everyone* its going to be kinda okay mostly probably. i mean at least you have a blanket now, that' should help 
> 
> for more updates, stories, and fun times check us out on twitter [Autumn Ignited](https://twitter.com/AutumnIgnited) and [SailUnchartedWaters](https://twitter.com/SailUnchartd)
> 
> We have an Instagram too but I always forget to link it


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sex scene in this chapter starts at [[o]] and ends at [[x]] this fic is rated M so the sex is NOT graphic, no body parts are mentioned, but this is the chapter that made this fic M
> 
> Like what we do? wanna hang out with us on Twitter? [Autumn Ignited](https://twitter.com/AutumnIgnited) and [SailUnchartedWaters](https://twitter.com/SailUnchartd)

~🌸~

Lance’s fingers shook as he tied the last bunch of flowers in a bow. Today he’d finally be saying goodbye to the pig-phins on his back. He hadn’t even seen the tattoo that was supposed to cover it up, but he trusted Keith. If there was one thing his boyfriend could do, it was paint skin with a needle and ink. 

He squinted at the pile of mini bouquets. His eyes burned in the dim light that flickered above him. The electrician did say that the wiring was fucky, but Lance had thought it was mostly fixed. Maybe it was just the bulb.

Lance abandoned his work to flick the light switch off and on again. The bulb gasped a last few breaths of life before sputtering out altogether. 

_ Great. _

It was a good thing he had the giant window to let in natural light. Plus, he was done with the order. After Keith’s, he’d head to Goolrick’s to pick up a new bulb. Or maybe he could just borrow one from him. 

Lance stretched and hopped up on the counter. He really should be cleaning up and getting ready for his tattoo, but his nerves were making him procrastinate. A heaviness settled over his chest and he tapped his fingers to try and get rid of it. 

Sure he’d had a tattoo before, but he’d been drunk, with Pidge, and he hadn’t been getting it from a boy who possessed more coolness in his pinkie than Lance had in his entire body. So, yeah, nervousness didn’t even  _ begin  _ to cover it.

Swinging his legs so that his heels tapped against the wood, Lance stared at nothing. With every sway of his body, the emotions grew, blotting out the world. Keith’s tattoo parlor swallowed his own shop and he was sitting in the chair as Keith pressed a needle to his skin. It was a kind of daydream that took over his every sense until he lost who and where he was.

He swayed faster, kicking the table with a  _ thunk thunk thunk _ in rhythm to his imagination. 

Scenarios - _ what if’s _ \- played through his head. Everything that could go wrong, went wrong including one instance where they were stepped on by Southern Godzilla in a cowboy hat. 

The emotions needed to escape but they had nowhere to go. Anxiety and nerves gripped his muscles. 

He was alone. There was no reason to be embarrassed or try to hide, to pretend to be normal.

So, he screamed. 

Loud and cathartic and a touch painful. 

When he ran out of breath he screamed  _ again _ , spilling emotions like an erupting volcano. They melted from his muscles and released his nerves. Lance bent over, gripping the counter so he didn’t fall forward and let out one final scream to the floor. 

Lance stared down at his shoes, suspended in mid-air and toes pointed inwards. Slowly he released his curled toes, wiggling them inside the shoes. 

Everything felt lighter, clearer, a little less overwhelming. 

He sat up and hopped off the counter. If only stuff like that was normal. He wished he didn’t have to worry about looking weird in front of others or explain why he was doing something. But society wasn’t that forgiving and he  _ definitely _ didn’t need Keith to see him when he got like that.

_ Beep Beep,  _ his phone reminded him.

Just in time. Lance smiled as he shut off his alarm and grabbed a bag of treats for Red.

When he pushed through the door to Area 51 the scent of Keith and ink hit him. The shop and all its smells and sounds had become as familiar as his own. Even the buzzing of Keith’s needle was soothing instead of grating like it once was. 

Soft instrumental music tried to drown out the buzz and Lance hummed to the music. Keith played this album the most and he had all of the songs memorized now. Whatever the album was, it certainly wasn’t classical. If he had to guess it was some kind of acoustic cover of death metal, if there even was such a thing. 

“Hey, there. Be with you in just a second,” Keith called out in his soft drawl. 

Red, however, came bounding out of the backroom, yowling and thrashing her tail. She wove her way between Lance’s legs so quickly, he had to shuffle to avoid stepping on her. 

“There you are, girl. Did’ja miss me?” Lance knelt, pulling the treat bag from his pocket. Sure, Keith had treats available for customers to buy, but they were  _ chicken _ and his girl deserved top-shelf salmon. 

He shook the dried salmon flakes and she went wild with cries, two front paws jumping to his knee as she screamed at him. 

“Okay, okay. I’m hurrying.” He pulled out a strip of fish and Red snatched it out of his hand, jumping down. “Sheesh, you’re welcome.” 

The buzzing quieted for a moment. 

“Lance?”

Lance looked up from Red chewing on her dried fish to find Keith hovering in the doorway.

“Had to pay the cat tax.” He stood, heart pounding. It seemed like all Keith had to do was exist and Lance fell a little harder.

Keith’s eyes crinkled over the rim of his face mask. The plastic goggles made them seem a little larger, so the smile was even more obvious. 

“Hey. Almost done in here. Go put water on for tea. Your design is in the open sketchbook on the table if you wanna look.” 

“Yeah, okay. Can do.” Lance shoved his hands in the back pockets of his shorts and took a step back, clipping Red’s paw. “Oh, shit. Sorry, baby.” He scooped up the cat, rubbing the dark pads as she licked her whiskers. Fuck, he was so stupid. He’d stepped on Keith’s cat in front of Keith; he was the  _ worst _ . 

Keith snorted. “Serves her right for getting underfoot. She knows better but she can’t help herself around you.”

“Must be a family trait.” Lance winked and threw finger guns while still holding onto Red. 

“Must be,” Keith agreed easily, then slipped back into the room to finish up with his other client. 

Lance laughed awkwardly in the empty room. “I really don’t understand why either of you put up with me,” he muttered to Red.

She squirmed and meowed, flicking her tail in agitation. Lance set her on the floor and she followed him to the break room, crying for more fish. 

One of Keith’s well-loved leather sketchbooks sat on the coffee table, with a strip of fabric sticking out as a bookmark. He ignored it for the moment, moving to heat up water.

His own mix was stashed along with a bunch of store-bought boxes in a drawer. In the same way that Keith left his snacks all over Nemo’s Garden, Lance had hidden a few things for himself. Tea was one of them. 

His vegan cereal bars were the other. He grabbed a granola bar from Keith’s candy bowl. 

Lance sipped on his tea as he sat down. He wasn’t sure what they’d do if he didn’t like the design. Make out instead, probably.

“Make out only to get shoved away,” Lance added bitterly. Not that he was actually mad. 

The bitterness evaporated along with this breath as soon as he opened the sketchbook. There was no way  _ this _ was his tattoo. Especially a free one. He’d been expecting something small, just big enough to cover the old one.

But Keith had outdone himself.

The new design was a wave of flowers. The dolphins became vines and seafoam, their fins transformed into leaves. Keith must have spent time Googling the flower meanings - he wouldn’t just slap them around without forethought - which meant that Lance was wrestling with two points of beauty: the inherent artistry of the flowers and the delicate sweetness of their hidden meanings. 

The ocean waves were made of tangled Crocus (cheerfulness), Zinnia (goodness, constancy), and tulips (there’s sunshine in your smile) but the central focus was a pristine gardenia, its petals crashing against the shore of what would be Lance’s skin. That was the one that got him most: the unassuming innocence of a pure white gardenia shyly saying, “ _ I think you’re lovely _ .” Keith’s silent words. 

He abandoned both his tea and snack to trace the flower with his finger. 

Gardenias were one of his favorites. He’d always wanted one as a tattoo, though he wasn't sure if he'd ever told Keith that. It must've been a lucky guess or a sweet sentiment. 

He was pretty sure he'd told him that he liked forget-me-nots, back when they'd first gotten together at Sonny's party. 

Yet-

Something nagged at the back of his mind. Something about oceans that tickled and tattooed flowers and a Keith that smelled like coffee. Before he could grab at the memory Keith startled him out of his thoughts. 

“So? What d’you think?” He’d removed the mask, but the goggles were pushed on top of his forehead. They caught his bangs, making them stick up. It gave him a bit of a mad scientist aesthetic. 

Keith sank down next to Lance on the couch, looking at his own design over Lance’s shoulder. “Be honest, though. If you don’t like it, you won’t hurt my feelings.” 

“I love it!” Lance turned, the sweet, tingling warmth still raging under the surface of his skin. “It’s beautiful. You’re beautiful. I’m going to be beautiful.” 

Keith laughed and knocked Lance’s shoulder with his own. “I’m glad, thank you, no, and you already are. I hope Google really knows which flowers are what, cuz that’s all I had to go by.” 

He was slightly concerned at how easily Keith rejected his compliment, but one look at his unbothered expression had him moving on. “Yeah. I think you and Google did a fantastic job.” Lance traced the gardenia. "Why'd you pick this one?" 

“Ah, well.” Shy and self-conscious, Keith rubbed the back of his neck. “Figured you’d know all the meanings anyway, and I do. Mean it, I mean. I -  _ uh _ .” Lifting his eyes, he gave Lance a small smile. “Think you’re lovely. Besides, you said this would be the flower you’d want if you ever got a tattoo.”

“I did?” Lance wrinkled his nose, trying to think back. That same nagging feeling was back, poking at him to remember. “When did I say that?”

“When I painted a zebra shark on your face, and then the whole damn ocean because I wanted to keep you there a little longer.”

Lance clutched the insides of his shoes, trying to stay grounded as his heart bloomed inside his chest. “You remembered that? I didn’t even remember that,” he said more to himself.

Keith just shrugged and smiled. “So? Is it still true?”

“Extremely. Way cooler than roses.”

“Well, good. You ready to say so long to those sad dolphins? We can start right now.”

“Right now, right now? Shouldn’t we like, prep first?”

Keith raised an eyebrow. “You want me to come up with a cheer? Give you a pep talk?” He paused, then added, “Grab some lube?”

Lance shoved him, face burning. “No, oh my God, Keith.” The fact that Keith might have lube stashed nearby was something he refused to even think about. “You might have done this a million times but this is only my second and this is  _ way  _ bigger-”  _ Oh no _ , he was only making this worse. “You know what, nevermind. Let’s just do it. The tattoo, I mean.”

There was a half-beat of silence before Keith laughed. It was loud and uninhibited in a way Lance had never heard from him. Lance huffed, heat spreading to his ears and down his chest. When it quieted, Keith pulled him close by the side of his neck and kissed his reddened cheek. 

“You’re way too cute for me to handle sometimes, y’know that?”

Lance grumbled but let his head fall to Keith’s shoulders. “I came here so you could inflict pain on me, not make fun of me.”

Keith ruffled his hair into a messy nest, chuckling at Lance’s indignant squawk. “Come on, then, Flower Boy. Let’s go cause you some pain.” 

“Wait, I take it back.” But Keith was already pulling him off the couch and leading him to the Chupacabra room. Lance gripped his hand like a lifeline. 

Keith might be the one causing the pain, but he was also Lance’s only source of comfort. Plus after this, he was definitely planning on playing up the pain to get ice cream and maybe a few kisses.

He sat in the chair that Keith pointed to and swung his legs over the side. “Have you ever done this before?”

“Nope,” Keith replied cheerfully, pulling out an unopened cardboard box and ripped off the tape. “First day on the job. Lucky my client’s kinda cute.” 

Lance kicked at him. “That’s not what I meant.” Keith was having  _ way _ too much fun with this. Apparently there was a reason his boyfriend’s job was stabbing people. “I  _ mean _ is it your first time tattooing someone you like,  _ like _ , I guess? Y’know, a boyfriend or something.”

Keith looked up, brows pinched, and then quickly back down as he started to unpack bottles of ink. “Yes. I’ve told you: you’re the first person I ever liked enough to date.” He wrinkled his nose at the bottles. “That doesn’t sound right. The first person I’ve ever had feelings for. Or - whatever, you get it. So, the answer is yes, you’re the first.”

“Not even a crush? Lure them in with the prospect of colorful and permanent stabbing, then you get to touch them?”

“What kinda guy do you take me for?” 

"The kinda guy that waves knives at cute boys they like." Lance batted his eyelashes. 

Keith turned to frown at him, before his socially slow gears seemed to pick up on the fact he was being teased. He scoffed and shook his head, tossing Lance a bottle of ink. “I don’t work like that, Lance. Here.” 

He caught the bottle with a fumble, almost dropping it. "I didn't realize I had to do the deed myself. I don't know if I have the constitution. Or the artist prowess," Lance said, turning the bottle around in his hands. 

“It’s vegan ink,” Keith explained with an eyeroll. “Or at least it’s supposed to be. I thought I’d let you check it out to make sure before I go sticking you with it.” 

Lance gaped at him. "You got these? Just for me?" 

Keith rubbed his nose self-consciously. “I mean... yeah? It’d be kind of an asshole thing to do if I didn’t. It’s important to you.” 

“I’m going to be honest. I didn’t even know ink could be not-vegan, so…thanks.” Lance rubbed his palms across the bottle, spinning it between his hands. “I honestly don’t know if the pigs on my back are vegan or not.”

“Well, if they weren’t before, they’re gonna be.” Keith sorted out a few colors, consulting his sketchbook as he did. Once Lance had confirmed the ink was indeed vegan so far as he was aware, Keith lowered the chair until it was flat and placed a new sheet of hospital paper over it. 

“Alright, then.” He patted the paper. “Time to get comfy on your belly.”

Lance held his breath as he laid down. The paper crinkled under him and the cold leather sprouted goosebumps across his skin. 

He shifted a few times until he was as comfortable as he could be. 

By the time Keith settled down next to him, he was so tense his foot was shaking. 

“Hey.” A warm hand settled on the small of his back and began rubbing in slow, soothing circles. “It’s just the outline first. Just a marker. Okay?”

Lance took a deep breath and peeked over his shoulder. "Okay." Okay, he could do this. 

He concentrated on the warmth of Keith's hand.  _ Relax,  _ he scolded himself. Curling his toes tight, he forced his foot to hold still. "Okay. I'm okay." 

“Okay." Keith didn't sound convinced. "I'm gonna push your shirt up and use a little bit of numbing cream. Let it settle in.”

Lance nodded into his folded arms, nails digging into his skin. 

Keith’s hands were gentle as they eased his shirt up his back, exposing his skin to the air. Soon after, a coil of cold gel hit his lower back. 

Lance hissed through his teeth, squirming under the chill. 

It didn't last long though; Keith made quick work of spreading it around until it warmed up. Then his thumbs were digging in, massaging Lance’s taut muscles with firm, relaxing strokes.

Lance bit back a moan, fingers slowly uncurling. He stared at the little moon-shaped indentation from his thumb as his muscles let go. 

“Bet you didn’t know the service came with a massage, didja?” Keith’s voice in Lance’s ear was deep and teasing. 

Lance shook his head, trying to hide in the crook of his arm. This was kinda… hot. "Feels nice," he said, voice muffled. 

Keith’s answering chuckle rumbled in his throat. “Maybe I should quit my day job. Take up being a masseuse.” 

"I thought you said this was part of the service?"

There was a huff of laughter and then Keith leaned over him to kiss the shell of his ear, hot and breathy, with a coy smile in his voice. “You think I do this with any other cute trick who comes into my shop? Relax and enjoy the VIP treatment.”

"Better watch out, if this is how you're always going to treat me I might get spoiled.”

“No reason for you not to.” 

Keith resumed his massage until Lance’s skin was numbed and a little tingly. When he was finished, he bent to kiss the soft curls of Lance’s hair before washing his hands and settling in his rolling stool to do the linework. As he began the meticulous work of copying his artwork from sketchbook to skin, he hummed quietly to himself - a song Lance recognized as the one about whiskey. 

He closed his eyes finally, actually relaxing into the leather chair that was now warm from his own body heat. The tip of the marker was a shadow pressing on his back. It was soothing and relaxing, a lot like getting face paint. 

“Since when do you know this song?” 

“Hm?” Lance’s brain was a beat behind trying to catch up to the conversation. He’d been so deep in the touch of the marker on his skin and Keith’s soft humming he hadn't even noticed he’d been singing along.

“Oh uh, sorry,” he apologized automatically, not really sure what he was apologizing for. “I didn’t mean to.”

“I don’t know why not.” Keith rolled back into his line of sight and pushed the hair out of Lance’s eyes so he could smile at him. “You’ve got a sweet voice. I’m just surprised you know the words, is all.” 

Lance couldn’t hold his gaze as he mumbled into his arm.

“What’s that?”

“I put it on a playlist,” he said a little louder. “After the General Store party, I made a playlist that reminded me of you. That’s why I know them.”

Keith was quiet for a moment. The stool squeaked as he rolled to kiss Lance’s forehead. 

“Careful,” he murmured against Lance’s skin. “Or I’m going to start thinking you like me or somethin’, Long Beach.” 

Lance snorted to release the butterflies swarming in his chest. “Oh no, that’d be awful. We couldn’t have that.”

“No, we can’t,” Keith agreed, scooting his way back to inking position. As he did, he tenderly dragged his knuckles along the exposed skin of Lance’s arm. 

It took another twenty minutes or so before Keith sat back and patted him on the butt. “Alright. Get up, stretch, get a drink. Then we’ll get started.”

Lance couldn’t wait. Sitting still for so long with nothing to do was almost torture. He was up and off the table before Keith finished his instructions. Hopping a few times, he shook out his arms and legs. “Is the drink allowed to be hard?”

Keith chuckled. “Unfortunately not. Much as I’d like to let you, ‘fraid you’re stuck with tea or soda. I’m gonna put my foot down on the Red Bull, though.” He leaned back against the side counter and crossed his arms with a smirk. “All that extra service and I don’t even get a tip?”

“First you tell me to go get a drink and stretch, and now you’re demanding tips.” Lance crossed the distance between them, grabbing Keith by his collar. “You need to make up your mind.” Yanking Keith to him by his shirt, he stole a kiss, short and sweet, and then another.

Keith grunted and held him by the hips, biting at Lance’s lower lip when he made to leave and then giving it an apologetic little lick. “ _ Mmn _ . You’re right, this is a bad idea.”

“I don’t know. I’m quite enjoying giving you a tip.” Lance let his hand drag down Keith’s chest to hook into his belt loops, toying with the waistband of his jeans playfully. 

“Fuck.” Keith ran a hand through Lance’s hair and tugged his face until their lips were brushing. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

Lance had to agree. He had no idea how he affected Keith and he was desperate to find out. Exactly what Keith felt and what he wanted were all vague mysteries that Lance seemed to always guess wrong. He ran towards the answer, slipping his hands under Keith’s shirt and pressing his hips against Keith’s thigh.  _ Tell me, _ he begged with his body,  _ what do I do to you? _

“Ah, shit.” Keith groaned and let his head fall back. “We gotta get back to work. That lidocaine won’t work forever and I know you’re worried about the pain.” 

His back was feeling pretty numb. There was a strange blankness to his body that he was hyper aware of. Still, Keith looked so pretty on the edge of whatever was always stopping him before Lance could push him over it. He hiked up Keith’s shirt, running his hands over the slightly damp skin. “Grab a drink, give me a kiss, get back to work. I’m not sure if even you know what you want.”

“That’s for damn sure.” There was a hot flush all the way up his neck and Keith was squeezing his eyes shut like he was in pain. “I don’t know which way is up when I’m around you. But…” He drew a deep, bolstering breath. “Let’s do this right, get your tattoo done, and we can pick this up for the rest of the night after that. Deal?”

“Deal.” Lance kissed his nose and skipped backwards, letting Keith’s shirt fall back down. “Let me grab tea and we can get right into it.”

It didn’t take Lance long to have a mug of tea and settle back onto his stomach. Still, by the time he got back Keith was all business and any chance of making out before he got stabbed was out the window. He snorted as he sat the mug on a chair next to him. 

Keith glanced up from filling his pen. “What’s so funny?”

“It's just that,” Lance said between giggles, “I was so scared you’d stab me for so long and now, here I am, voluntarily letting you stab me.” 

Keith rolled his eyes. “On your belly, smartass. Put your headphones in if you want, and tap my leg if you need a break - though I might not give it to you for that sort of sass.”

“Yeah, you will.” Lance smirked and cut off Keith’s reply by stuffing headphones in his ears. Keith smacked his ass as he turned over and Lance threw a raspberry over his shoulder.

Overall he was in a pretty good mood and had forgotten about the whole needle being painful thing. So when the needle hit his skin he yelped. More out of surprise than pain. It did kind of hurt despite the numbing cream but it wasn’t as bad as he imagined. He’d worked himself up into thinking it was going to be pure torture so the actual thing ended up being underwhelming. 

It was manageable for a good fifteen minutes before Lance was digging his nails into his biceps and Keith tapped his shoulder.

The buzz of the needle slowed and died as Keith rolled his stool around to the front of the table to get a good look at Lance. “You doin’ alright there? Need to take a break?”

Lance nodded, ripping the headphones from his ears. “Yeah, just a little one.”

“No problem. Let me know when you’re ready.”

Keith brought him a bottle of water and took the time to stretch and cuddle Red, talking about nothing in his quiet drawl just to keep Lance occupied. It was a good distraction. Lance relaxed enough for them to start again. 

They carried on with intermittent breaks like that for close to an hour. Lance couldn’t hold still for long and would have to get his shakes out. Keith’s touches on his arms and neck and legs and anywhere that wasn’t his lower back helped spread the sensations. 

There was something about being touched in other places that eased the pain in his back and he had no idea why. Lucky for him, Keith didn’t seem to question it. He’d squeeze as hard as Lance asked any place he requested.

He even indulged Lance’s pleas for small kisses here and there. 

They were creeping into hour two when the overhead lights flickered. The buzzing of Keith’s pen faltered, and he immediately pulled it back as the power went out. It was still light enough outside that they weren’t in pitch dark, but the session still had to be cancled. 

Keith rolled backwards to slap a lime green touch-light on the counter. His expression was disgruntled and pouty as he glared at the ceiling. 

“Shit - it’s been doing this off and on all week.”

Lance sat up, careful of his back. “I thought it was just my place. I didn’t realize it was happening to you, too.”

“Yeah, it’s just this block. Stella’s is fine, but I guess someone’s coming to look at it next week.” Sighing, Keith pushed his goggles back and set the pen down. “Well, I guess that’s as good a stopping place as any. The only thing I hadn’t finished was the gardenia. You wanna take a look?”

“Yeah!” Lance hopped down and immediately regretted it. It wasn’t a sharp pain, but it was a strange kind of soreness in his back that made him feel off kilter. “This isn’t going to be fun in the morning, is it?”

“I’d sleep on your belly.”

“My neck isn’t going to like that,” Lance said absentmindedly. He was too focused on the tattoo to care about the pain he’d have later. 

Turning in front of the mirror, Lance’s jaw dropped. It was only the black outline, so the colors of the dolphins were still visible. But the lines were delicate and wove his old tattoo seamlessly into his new one. If he didn’t stare directly at their beady little eyes, he could barely see them in the wave crashing over his back. 

Lance twisted to the other side. The petals curled against his skin like it was a beach. The delicate blossoms fell apart and turned into seafoam. The wave itself dipped into the dimples above his ass. 

“Holy shit, Keith.” He turned again and again trying to see from all angles. 

While he looked, Keith had shed his goggles and face mask, and was standing near the corner with his hands in his pockets, looking shy. “Hope that’s a good ‘holy shit.’”

“The  _ best  _ holy shit.” Lance grinned, tying his shirt so he could show it off. “I’m never wearing clothes again.”

Keith’s smile unfolded slowly when he realized Lance was genuinely pleased. He raised his shoulders to his ears in a little shrug. “With a figure like yours, that’s probably a sound business practice.”

Lance sputtered and blushed but puffed out his chest, putting his hands on his hips. “The old ladies would give me so many tips.” He let his hands drop and sauntered over to his boyfriend. “And maybe some handsome men would buy me ice cream after putting me through hours and hours of pain.”

“‘Men’ plural?” Keith clicked his tongue. “Guess my fighting days aren’t over yet. But before you go out prowling, we gotta wrap that and I need to give you the care spiel and your little goodie bag. Then we can go get ice cream with all your other boyfriends.” 

"They're all pretty hot; you'd be  _ so  _ jealous." Lance followed Keith to the chair and obediently laid down. "One is a tattoo artist, another has this amazing singing voice, and the other one has this cat that loves me more than him." Lance swung his legs in the air as Keith worked. 

Keith snorted, but didn’t comment as he cleaned and patched Lance up. His focus as a professional apparently didn’t break even for boyfriends when it came to tattoo aftercare. After he was done, he pulled Lance’s shirt down and kissed the fabric over his new healing artwork. 

“There. All set. Step one to being rid of your drunk mistake. We’ll do color another day - hopefully without a power outage.” 

Lance frowned down at his shirt. “No one can see it like that.”

“Not until it heals. C’mon, I’ll walk you through it. Then ice cream. Then we could, uh.” Keith looked up through his lashes and gave him a bashful, sideways smile. “Pick up where we left off before?”

Kissing ice cream from Keith’s mouth? Lance was ready to sign up  _ twice _ . “Deal.” He practically dragged Keith out the door.

~🌸~

After a few gray, misty days, the sun broke through and the warmer weather really began in Peach Springs. Once the fog had baked off, the bushes and trees on every street corner were in riotous bloom, and the backroads started to smell like honeysuckle. Without even trying, the plants Lance kept outside of Nemo’s Garden went berserk, enough that he had to prune them back every other day. There was a steady stream of women in and out as wedding season really kicked in and pre-orders trickled in for prom. 

It had been a very happy and proud phone call to Lita when he told her their profits for the quarter. She’d whooped so loud and praised him so effusively that Lance could hear the orderlies on the other end asking her to _please calm down,_ _it was afternoon quiet hours_. He’d giggled to hear her snap back, “How can I be calm when I have the most amazing grandson? _You_ calm down!”

It was a good feeling. After the rocky start and his gamble on aquaponics, he was finally starting to hit his stride. He hadn’t known he had a good head for business, but it came easier and easier every day - almost like he was a natural. Almost like he enjoyed it for his own sake. 

He didn’t dwell too much on that. 

On one warm, sun-dappled day, about a week after his first tattoo session, Lance’s phone went off in his pocket while he was flipping through an order form for corsages. 

**Haystack (10:31 am):** Morning. Got a second?

Lance smiled to himself. It wasn’t often that Keith started their conversations, but whenever he did it sent little bubbles from his toes all the way to his chest. He pushed the booklet away and hopped up on the counter already typing out a response.

(10:32 am): As in to chat or to come over?

**Haystack (10:33 am):** Look outside 

(10:33 am): Well that’s not ominous at all…

Lance kicked his legs over the counter to flip around. He didn’t look up as he weaved through the shelves.

(10:34 am): What am I even supposed to be looking at? Wait is it Sonny again, did he forget pants

Lance peeked out his window but he didn’t see Sonny running pantless down the street. He didn’t even see Stella clomping her way over. He craned his neck to check the other side of the street, pressing his face against the glass. Nothing.

He was about to text again to find out what the hell he was supposed to be looking at when he saw Keith standing in his storefront window, smiling at him. In one arm, he was bouncing an unhappy looking Red, and with the other, he was holding a piece of paper against the glass. 

**_Good morning Beautiful_ ** , the sign said in Keith’s neat script.

No way.  _ No way.  _

He was the protagonist in a rom-com, this was no longer real life. His hands flapped happily as he jumped and looked around. He needed a piece of paper or a pen or- or his phone, that would work. 

(10:37 am): Holy shit I can’t believe you’re Taylor Swifting me 

He watched as Keith put Red down so he could fish his phone out. His brows furrowed in confusion, but instead of replying, he just pocketed his phone again and shrugged at Lance with a smile. The first sign was tossed to the side - since apparently there were enough to warrant that being called ‘the first’ - and replaced with another one. 

**_Busy tonight? Got a surprise for you._ **

Lance was here, he was watching this happen but he still couldn’t believe it.  _ Keith _ . Keith Kogane of podunk Peach Springs was Love Actually-ing him. Lance didn’t even realize he was jumping in a circle until he got dizzy. 

Right. This was happening and Keith was waiting for an answer. Also Keith had just watched him freak the fuck out. Not his favorite fact. 

He stole a glance to see if Keith looked disgusted. Instead, he was laughing. Even from across the street, Lance could tell it was a kind and genuine laugh. 

Relief flooded through him and as quickly as he could, Lance typed back.

(10:40 am): Totally free, super free, I’m all yours

After checking his phone again, Keith grinned and held up his last sign. 

**_Have a good day in the flower business._ **

**_And happy one month._ **

Lance stared, blinked, then stared again. Had it really been one month? Wait, back up.  _ Keith _ not only remembered that it was their one month but he’d planned an entire thing with window signs and surprises? 

_ His  _ Keith did that?

Keith cocked his head in visual question, smile faltering as he shifted. 

God, Keith couldn’t get any cuter. If he did the entire world probably wouldn’t be able to handle it and would combust. At least Lance would. 

Nope, he lied, he was going to combust on that spot, right then and there. He bounced on his toes a few times, checking the street left and right. No one. While a horde of old ladies or a flock of Karen-moms trying to order for prom could start filing in at any moment, he didn’t care. 

Jumping, Lance shook his head, waving his arms and making a big X to make Keith stay.

Without waiting another second, he threw his phone on the windowsill, sprinted out the door, and across the street.  _ Just one second, _ he apologized in his head to any customers that might stop by,  _ give me one second and then I’ll order your stupid corsages.  _

Keith already had the door open and was frowning. “Was that a no? Did I-”

Lance slammed into him, using Keith as his breaks. “That was the most romantic thing anyone has ever done and I don’t deserve you, and you can pick me up at six.” 

He cut off Keith’s reply with a kiss, just in case there was any doubt left in his stubborn boyfriend’s mind that he was over the moon about the whole thing. 

“My apartment, six o’clock.” He said as they broke apart. He checked behind him. Some lady was wandering around inside looking lost. He wished the world would just let him have two seconds. 

Lance stepped back a few paces with a wild grin permanently spread across his face. “I gotta get back. But that was amazing and I love you!” he said as he ran back to his shop.

Keith was left standing there with the sweet cinnamon burn of his heart in his throat and a stomach full of fireflies. 

“You too,” he quietly replied. 

~🌸~

Lance had said six, but just in case, Keith hadn’t booked anyone past three. He wanted to give himself extra time, both to make sure he didn’t fuck something up, and to clean up a little beyond the usual. 

He even  _ French  _ braided his hair, because he figured that was fancier and it kept everything neat and tidy. Did Lance like him neat and tidy? Was it too much? 

He’d packed the food in a small cooler that would actually fit on the back of his bike before he wondered if he ought to go buy an actual picnic basket. 

Did people even sell picnic baskets?

Did people still go on  _ picnics? _

… Fuck.

He’d gone through a cycle of berating himself for putting this date together to celebrate a single month and then soothing himself with the reminder of Lance’s happiness. If it really had been too much, too nauseatingly sappy, Lance would have let him know. Whether he meant to be or not, the boy was easy for Keith to read. 

The reality was that he was in for a penny, in for a pound, so he had to buck up and pick up his boyfriend before he could angst about it any longer. 

Keith was at Lance’s door, bouquet in hand, maroon button-up tucked into his nicest pair of black jeans, at 5:55 exactly. 

He stood at the door for an additional four minutes and fifty-three seconds (just so he didn’t look too eager or ridiculous) before he had the courage to knock. 

There was muffled yelling before the door was thrown open. The scent of green that was his apartment mixed with the fresh smell of a recent shower. Lance’s hair was still slightly damp and curling around his face. 

Keith immediately relaxed about his own outfit when he took in Lance’s. Gone were his normal crop tops and shorts, replaced by a soft blue polo and khakis. The polo was tight and unbuttoned to show a peek of skin and collar bone. Keith dragged his eyes down and then back up. The pants were slim, making his legs look even longer. The only thing slightly off to his whole outfit, and probably the biggest giveaway that these weren’t his normal clothes, were the pastel blue sneakers. 

“Hey,” Lance smiled, cheeks still flushed from his shower.

“Hey, yourself,” Keith smiled back, feeling his own face warm as he took his boyfriend in. “You look really flowers.”

Lance wrinkled his nose and Keith realized his mistake almost immediately. “Yeah? Really flowers?”

Keith winced. “ _ Nice _ . You look nice. I got flowers. Here.” He shoved the bouquet of tulips into Lance’s chest. 

“You bought flowers from someone else?” Lance frowned down at the bouquet.

“Not technically.” Keith stared at the tulips with Lance. “These are the ones you sold Stella this morning. I dunno what she told you they were for, but I made her go for me so it would be...a surprise? I think? I don’t know, you’re just supposed to bring flowers to these sorts of things and I wasn’t about to give you gas station flowers just to keep you in the dark. And you said roses were dumb, so I told her to pick something she’d wanna get?”

Lance ran his finger over the soft petals but his face stayed frozen in a frown. “So you made me make my own bouquet?”

Keith’s collar felt a lot tighter than it had before. “Jesus, I guess so? What the fuck else do you do when your boyfriend is a  _ florist _ ?”

“Oh man, Keith, you make it so easy.” His mask cracked and broke into a grin. “I love them and that was really sneaky of you. I thought it was weird that Stella’s dog died, I didn’t remember a dog at the party.” 

“That’s a stupid fucking reason to buy flowers,” Keith muttered, shoving the bouquet completely into Lance’s hands and then stuffing his own in his back pockets to keep from fidgeting. “Last time I ask her for a favor.”

“Aw, don’t be like that.” Lance grabbed his elbow and pulled him inside. “I’m going to hang these up before we go. Did you want anything; tea, water, spaghetti?”

“I, uh.” Keith glanced over his shoulder and then back to Lance. “Actually… I packed us dinner?”

Lance fished out a ball of yarn from a box by his couch and tied the stems. “It was a joke, but also - you, Keith Kogane who microwaves tea water, packed us dinner? I didn’t realize our one month was so special.” Despite his words his blue eyes gleamed and he was subconsciously bouncing.

Even though he was half-squirming with embarrassment, Keith couldn’t help the fond uptick in his smile at how fucking cute Lance was when he got excited. It sent the little damp wisps of his hair bouncing, and Keith wanted to kiss his freckled cheeks until Lance was laughing just to hear the bright sound of it. 

“If you’re gonna give me grief for it left and right here, I’m just gonna go by myself.” He tried to look stern, but it was proving pretty difficult. 

“But when I do, your eyebrows go like this.” Lance mashed his eyebrows together with his fingers. “And it’s so cute.”

“...I’m leaving.”

“No, no, no. I’m just kidding.” Lance skipped forward, trail of yarn following him. “Don’t leave, I promise I’ll stop. I just-” He hid behind the roses. “Sometimes I’m not really sure when jokes have gone too far. Did I hurt you?”

Keith’s heart melted and he lost the fight to keep from sweeping Lance into his arms. The tulips crinkled between them as he stole a quick, soft kiss. Lance threw his arms around Keith's neck. 

“No. Not at all. I’ve just got a reputation to maintain and all that, right?” Keith smirked down at him. “You’ll see it in the Gazette tomorrow. ‘Local Gang Leader makes time after Knife Fight to take Stunning Boyfriend on Uncharacteristically Mushy Date.’” 

“Don’t worry, I’ll buy every copy to save you from embarrassment.” 

“Nah,” Keith smiled softly, relaxing in Lance’s warm proximity. It made his belly fizzy and his mouth run away from him, saying stupid things like, “Not ashamed to show the whole town how I feel about you.”

Lance kissed him. His hand full of flowers pressed against Keith’s cheek. The heavy scent of tulips and Lance’s soap filled his nose. 

“If you keep saying stuff like that I might start thinking you like me,” Lance said against his lips. “And if you like me I might expect more flowers from myself that you make Stella buy, and then where will you be?”

“Broke,” Keith answered honestly. “Since I’d probably do it on the daily and you’re fuckin’ shameless.” He stole another kiss and pulled back, dragging a hand to Lance’s elbow and giving it a tug. “Come on, Extortionist. We’re losing twilight.”

Giggling, Lance followed him. He wrapped the bouquet on the door handle to hang, yarn still trailing through the living room. “Where are we going that we need sun?” he asked, pushing Keith out the door with his hip and locking it.

“It’s a surprise. It’s supposed to be a surprise, isn’t it?”

“I’m trying to collect clues.” Lance slipped his arm through Keith’s. “Sunlight, homemade food, flowers. So far I think it might be a date.”

Keith chuckled and put his hands in his pockets to trap Lance’s arm against his side. “You’re pretty sharp.”

“Just call me Holmes.” 

His bike was parked close to the complex, waiting with an extra gleam to her shine after he’d waxed her in preparation. Two helmets hung from her handles, one in a very un-Keith-like shade of blue with white stars all over it. 

He gave Lance a nudge. “I found that one in the kid’s section for you.”

“Oh my God, did you buy me a helmet?” Lance turned it over and it sparkled in the low sun. 

“Gotta keep you safe, don’t I?” 

“Aww, now I'm sure you like me.” He shoved it on his head and fished for the straps.

Keith batted his hands away and snapped the straps closed with a click, tightening them securely under Lance’s chin. “Technically it’s just a bike helmet, not a motorcycle helmet, but we’re only going about 45 on backroads. So enjoy it while you can until I find a sparkly big boy helmet for you.” 

Lance shook his head and went in for a kiss, knocking their helmets together. He reeled back, clutching the edge of his helmet like it was his head. “Sorry!”

Keith laughed and tugged him close to gently knock them together again. “Saddle up, Long Beach. We’ve got a little ways to ride.” 

“Alrighty, pard’ner,” Lance said in his horrible try at a southern accent and tipped his helmet.

Once Lance was situated behind him, Keith pulled out of the complex and turned left, pointing them towards the river. The backroad he’d had in mind, aptly named River Road, snaked its way through the forest, running parallel with the frothy water. On a nice evening like this, the lightning bugs were out in full force, illuminating the moss-choked trunks and heavy kudzu that blanketed the ground. 

With Lance’s arms around his middle and the sweet scent of honeysuckle on the wind, Keith let himself settle in and truly enjoy the ride. He was still a little on the nervous side, but Lance had chased most of that away just by being himself. He could feel whenever Lance got a little nervous about an upcoming turn, because he squeezed Keith’s waist in a bear hug that did dangerous things to his heart. 

They hadn’t even reached their destination yet, and still the ride felt nothing short of - well, it wasn’t like him to say something so ridiculous but he’d be damned if the whole thing didn’t feel magical. 

The engine guttered low as Keith slowed them down, pulling onto a rocky lane labeled Tapp Battlefield. The bike bounced them uncomfortably until the trees broke and the rocks gave way to a wide, grassy field that stretched as far as they could see. In the distance, it dipped down and gave way to gently rolling fields, and beyond those, the vague purple shadows of the mountains held court over the last lavender of twilight. The fireflies were here, too - glowing in slow, erratic patterns that mirrored the stars that were just beginning to wink into view.

Keith cut the engine and tugged off his helmet, glancing over his shoulder at Lance. “Hope you’re into picnics. Otherwise, we’re gonna be a little outta luck all the way out here.” 

“Oh boy, am I. I’m like, the picnic king,” he said, voice a little too high and fingers a little too tightly clenched in Keith’s jacket.

Keith hung his helmet on his handlebar and smoothed his hands over Lance’s to give them a squeeze. “You alright back there? Too much of a rodeo for your first ride?”

“Nah, I’m fine. I’m, like, totally okay. I just need a second to be able to feel my legs again.” Lance’s breath was hot on his neck, puffing against the exposed skin from his braid. 

“Take your time, darlin’,” Keith murmured, patting Lance’s hands before disentangling himself to put up the kickstand and start unbuckling their supplies. “Not that it much matters or anything, but this field was a major battlefield in the Civil War. Technically being here at night is trespassing but  _ technically  _ my brother may or may not be the one on patrol duty in this area tonight. So, we’re good.” 

Lance rested his hands against the seat that Keith abandoned and cocked his head. “Hm,” he hummed, looking suspiciously like a cat with the family bird in his mouth. Smug, but with a gleam of trouble. “What happened to Long Beach?”

“Huh?” Keith glanced up from fussing with the blanket he’d brought. “What about it?”

“I think I just graduated to ‘darlin’.’” Lance winked, biting his lip.

Instantly, Keith felt his neck heat up as he realized his mistake. It wasn’t his fault - Lance was nervous and sweet and it had just slipped out - but still. He scoffed and muttered, “Dunno what you’re talking about,” as he hefted the cooler under one arm. 

Lance swung his legs over to hop down, but his foot caught in the seat. His mouth was open with a retort but his eyes grew wide with fear as he realized he was about to eat dirt. 

Keith watched it happen like it was slow motion. Cooler still securely tucked under his arm, he stepped forward and caught Lance around the middle. His face stopped inches from the ground. 

"Tripped," Lance said intelligently. 

“I see that.” Once Keith had righted him with both feet safely on the ground, he gave the blanket to Lance and nodded towards the field. “You wanna pick the spot, Picnic King?”

"On it." Lance saluted. He was about to run off when he paused, turned, and hunched his back. "On it," Lance said again, holding the vowels and shaking his voice to be more ghost-like. 

It would have been great if Keith could have just chuckled or shook his head or something cool, but instead he let out the stupidest-sounding giggle followed by an unattractive snort. 

Lance preened like a peacock though, so if it made Lance look like that then it was worth his own embarrassment. 

Keith took his time picking his way across the field, careful not to jostle the food anymore than it had been. He followed Lance’s erratic path as he ran through the grass, judging each spot like it was some kind of test.

Eventually, Lance unfurled the blanket next to a thick patch of wildflowers. “Here!” he announced proudly.

“Did you check for land mines first?”

“What?!” 

Keith shrugged. “I told you, it’s a battlefield. You’re looking for small mounds, the grass will be a little thin.”

Lance lifted one foot, cringing away from the ground. “Are you serious? I could’ve died! You just let me tromp all over the field without telling me?”

Keith waited. 

Lance stared at him in disbelieving horror.

Keith had to break first, just the slightest quirk of a sly grin. 

“What are you smiling for? This isn’t funny, Kogane.” His hands came down to his hips and he was definitely pouting now. “Of course, you would take us out to a minefield for our one month and then laugh about it.”

“Jesus, Lance.” Keith laughed. “You really think that highly of me?”

Lance’s eyes unfocused as he went inside himself. Keith wasn’t sure what was going on in his head when he did that, but it usually took a while for him to come back to reality. So, he put the cooler down and kept himself busy unloading the tupperware. 

He’d unloaded the last container when Lance sat down on the blanket. 

“I do,” he said to the flannel. 

Keith’s smile was soft. “I know. Sorry for teasing you, but you made it pretty easy.”

“There aren’t really landmines, though, right?”

“Not a single one. Don’t even know if they’d been invented yet, to be honest.” 

“Oh, duh.” Lance clicked his tongue as he took in the field. “I don’t think I’ve ever even given thought to the civil war. I mean I know it happened but it was so far away that it felt like learning about a war in another country. Hell, I think this is my first time even being on a battlefield.” 

“Well, welcome. Bloodiest battle in the tri-county warfront.” Keith shook a container of Sunny D, now full of sangria. “Here - a peace offering.”

Lance snatched it from his grasp. “Oh man please tell me you spiked it.”

“Well, possibly did you one better. It’s sangria.” Keith shrugged. “Shiro insisted it was a must for picnics and I didn’t have a fancy bottle.”

“Gimme the cups.” Lance sat up on his knees with excitement. “Then we can toast to ourselves and get shitfaced in the woods. I’ve always wanted to do that. Oh, we could tip cows, too. Wait, is that mean? It’s probably mean, let’s tip fake cows. Vegan cow tipping.”

Keith passed over the cups and pulled out the tub of pasta he’d made, still warm in Shiro’s borrowed thermal lunchbox. “I’d be a little annoyed at you if I made this whole vegan picnic to spare the animals and you wanted to go around pushing them over for fun.”

“I appreciate you and your-” he leaned over to peek inside the tub. “Spaghetti sans Cow Tipping.” Lance went back to filling up the two drinks. Handing one to Keith, he raised his own. “To throwing mail at a future boyfriend.”

“And threatening him at knife point.” Keith touched their cups together. “Sorry it’s pasta again, but I honestly don’t know how to make anything else. I did make the muffins, though, so uh… hope they’re not terrible.”

“Are you kidding me? I love pasta.” Lance’s eyes widened as he took a sip. “Holy shit, Keith. This is really good. And dangerous. It’s like drinking punch.”

“Yeah?” Keith felt his face light up and he didn’t even bother hiding it.

“Yeah. I’m extra surprised because I thought for sure you were allergic to the color pink, yet look at the pretty wine you made.”

Leaning back on his elbows, Keith offered him an easy smile. “I like it just fine since I met you.”

“Sure you do,” Lance said into his cup.

They ate Keith’s spaghetti and it was decent, though Lance lavished it in praise. The whole time they joked and laughed more like friends would. It was nice. Comfortable. Keith had almost been scared that it would feel stifling, but he should’ve known that nothing could be stuffy with Lance around.

Breaking out the muffins, Keith watched Lance nibble on it between sips of sangria. 

Twilight suited Lance. The shades of lilac and lavender fading into navy blue made his skin look warm and soft. Now and then, Keith could see the glow of a lightning bug reflected in his eyes, making them look glassy and rare, like an opal lit from within. 

Lance was right; the sangria was dangerous. He wasn’t sure how many cups he’d had, and it was softening everything around him. It relaxed into his tongue, making him say things he might not otherwise say.

“Hey, Lance.”

“Hm?”

“Whatever happens to us,” Keith said, without any hint of sadness or reservation. “I’m real glad to’ve met you.”

Keith got a face full of wine as Lance sputtered, spraying it everywhere. “What the hell is that supposed to mean? What kind of ominous shit are you talking about on our anniversary?”

Grumbling, Keith lifted his shirt to his face to wipe it off. “What the fuck, I just meant whenever you move back. You didn’t have to water me like one of your plants.”

“Oh man, I’m so sorry.” Lance crawled over to him lifting up his own shirt to wipe at Keith’s face. “You can’t just say stuff like that when I’m drinking though.”

“You’re right.” 

With a quick flick of his wrist, Keith splashed the rest of his cup into Lance’s face with a smirk. “That’s much faster.”

Lance sat frozen, blinking through the wine dripping down his face. Pink spread across his shirt as it dripped, blossoming out across the cotton knit. Everywhere it touched turned almost purple. 

Then he was all movement.  _ “Why, you!” _ Lance lunged at him, fingers out and creeping up his shirt to tickle their way to his armpits. 

Laughing, Keith rolled them both until they were laying side by side, his own hands working their way under Lance’s shirt to tickle at his sensitive ribs. It was a strange counterpoint to the night they’d spent in his shop when the power went out; strange, because now he was allowed to touch, to look, to kiss instead of clenching his fists and trying to stuff his feelings down as far as they could go. 

Lance squirmed under him having completely given up on his own tickling to protect himself. When Keith decided Lance’d had enough he bent to kiss him on his forehead and then each warm cheek. Lance’s giggles died down and he grinned up with the last of the twilight in his eyes. 

“You never play fair.”

“Well, I learned from the best. You’re just a sore loser.”

Keith lowered himself down beside Lance and tucked his arms under his head to look up at the unbroken sky. The stars were far more visible now, especially given that the night was cloudless. He took in a deep breath, enjoying the scent of grass and wildflowers and Lance’s shampoo, and let it out slowly.

Lance tucked himself into his side, wet shirt and all. 

It was quiet as they watched the stars appear one by one, blinking into existence among the lightning bugs. 

Lance’s breath was a steady rhythm against his side. There was a point where Keith thought he might’ve fallen asleep. It was unusual for him to be this quiet for this long. So when Lance’s soft voice drifted over the breeze, he was a little more than surprised. 

“I’m not so sure about all of that anymore.”

Keith tilted his head, but even scrunched, he couldn’t really see Lance’s face. “What, being a sore loser?”

He could feel Lance’s sigh across his chest as Lance buried his face deeper, abandoning the sky. “Moving back.”

For a brief second, time stilled. The stars froze and the fireflies hung suspended over the grass. Then Keith’s heart started beating again and he managed to swallow and say, “Yeah?”

Like it was casual. Like the answer didn’t have the potential to make or break him. 

Lance picked at a button and his voice was only autidbale because Keith could hear it through his chest. “I mean, Lita isn’t doing so well and it’s kinda my shop now. Plus there’s a pretty good business course at the community college. Maybe -” His finger stopped, pausing on top of the button and pressing down. “Maybe I like it here and the people…”

Keith brought a hand down to rub across Lance’s back, maybe as a way to be grounding, but his own heart was somewhere in the stars. 

“Well…” He said quietly, carefully. “Maybe the people here like you, too.” 

"Yeah?" Lance scooted up until his chin was resting on Keith's chest and he was looking down at him. "Do you think there's a future here for me with those people?" 

“I think it’s -” Keith swallowed, “-a distinct possibility.”

"What about you?" 

He could feel his heartbeat in his fingertips and along his spine, pulsing down into the earth.

“...A definite possibility,” he murmured, quiet and thick. 

Doubt flashed across Lance’s blue eyes before they hardened with resolution. "The lease for the shop is up at the end of Summer. I think I'm gonna ask Lita if I can sign it." 

Relief flooded through Keith so quickly he felt lightheaded with it. His smile cracked, small and hesitant, before he sat up and got a good look at Lance’s eyes. 

Those perfect, bright, clever blue eyes that had dug themselves into every dream he’d had since they’d met, and were clearly never going to let him go. 

He moved.

With all his strength, he pulled Lance into his lap and cupped his face, kissing him through a delirious smile. Everywhere he could reach, every freckle - Keith covered with kisses before he sealed his lips over Lance’s, urging him to read between the lines for what Keith couldn’t get himself to say. 

Lance answered. Not in words but with roaming hands and quiet gasps and firm kisses. He grounded Keith with every movement and reassured him with every caress. 

This time, it wasn’t enough. His kisses were sangria-sweet and tasted like late spring, but after so long of holding back, of waiting, of being unsure of both himself and their future, Keith was at his end. He couldn’t keep the dam forged much longer. 

He broke from their kiss with a gasp, threading his fingers into Lance’s hair and tugging at the strands so they could lock eyes. 

“Lance…tell me right now. You said we didn’t need to wait, or hold back. Did you mean it?”

Lance's fingers tightened, one hand digging into the fabric of his shirt and the other into the soft skin of his hip. "Yeah. Yeah, I did. Every word." 

“I’ve, uh…” Keith swallowed and tucked a loose curl behind Lance’s ear, trailing his knuckle down the sharp line of his jaw. “I’ve never done this before. It sounds stupid but I haven’t - I’ve never felt - ugh. You know what I mean.”

"You haven't felt desire?" Lance took his hand and kissed his palm. "Or you haven't found the right person?" 

“Both?” Keith’s brows drew up in concern. “I’ve found people attractive, but never enough to do anything about it. Since Shiro took me in I’ve been focused on my shop and it just… didn’t seem important to go looking. Then you threw mail in my face.”

Lance trailed kisses down his wrist to the cuff of his sleeve. He bit lightly against Keith’s pulse point, scraping his teeth across the thin skin. Kissing his bite, he looked at Keith through his lashes. “Is that why you always stop us in the middle of making out?”

Keith nodded, sucking in his breath at the touch. “That, and I just… wanted to do right by you. You deserve better than some beat up old couch.” 

“Keith,” Lance whispered against his skin. He pressed his hips forward as he brought Keith’s hand to his heart. It pounded through his damp shirt, matching Keith’s own. “I don’t care where, as long as it’s you.”

The confession came out in a breathless hush. “I don’t wanna wait anymore.”

“Then don’t.” Lance let go of his hand and rushed forward to close the short distance between them.

It tasted different than any kiss they’d shared before. There was something that had taken the metallic lemon edge away and replaced it with something softer but no less electric. 

_ He’s staying,  _ Keith thought.  _ He’s staying and he’s going to be mine.  _

_ I want to be his.  _

The crickets seemed louder in the absence of words, chirping all around them as night truly fell over the battlefield. Their reedy whispers were carried on a breeze cool enough to bring goosebumps to his exposed skin, and Keith decided it was time Lance experienced the same. 

[[o]]

Near-reverently, he smoothed his palms up Lance’s back, taking his polo with them. All the while, he kissed and sucked at the sweat and sangria along his collarbone, thinking  _ mine, mine, mine. _

The lightning bugs had all gone to rest in his stomach, dancing and fluttering. Lance fiddled with his buttons to the beat of their wings and when both became too much, Keith ripped his shirt off himself. Hell could take it and its buttons for all he cared. 

Moonlight sparkled in beams though the fringe of Lance’s hair and bounced reflective motes of light from his skin. It was probably the night playing tricks on his eyes, but in that moment Keith could’ve sworn Lance was otherworldly. A fae that wandered this battlefield to seduce hapless men like him. 

Each pass of Lance’s burning hands over his skin set fire to his bones, shooting heat through his veins. If he was some kind of fae then Keith couldn’t care less if he was devoured right then and there. It would be worth it if Lance was the last thing that he touched, that he kissed, that he-

The world stilled with Lance in the center of a galactic eclipse, and Keith thought,  _ oh _ , thought  _ it’s too late,  _ thought  _ I’m ready.  _

Keith rolled them both over until he had Lance below him, hair fanning prettily against the flannel, cheeks flushed so dark his freckles stood out in stark contrast. 

He’d never looked so beautiful before. 

Keith’s stupid mouth ran away with his stupid heart, and before he could swallow it down, he murmured, “I think you might be it for me.”

“Keith,” Lance whined, pressing up. His fingers ran through Keith’s braid, catching and pulling out the tie. “I want to be yours.”

His hair cascaded down around them, blocking out the world. 

Lance fit so perfectly under him. Until this moment Keith had been incomplete and hadn’t even known it. Lance slotted into his life and his heart like a lost puzzle piece. Their legs and hips and chests, their fingers and lips and breath were meant for the other. 

The sound of Lance’s voice, so pretty and broken and desperate, drove Keith on until he was sweating, until the nightsong of crickets was drowned out by them both. He found Lance’s hand on the blanket and laced their fingers together, squeezing hard into the webbing to keep himself anchored. 

Months of aching and furtive glances, shy smiles and need, coiled tight in his belly, and Keith buried his nose into the warm juncture of Lance’s neck. 

“ _ Lance _ ,” he managed, and he had to hope Lance heard what he was trying to say, because his name had become the only word Keith could remember. 

A million points of light, between the stars and the fireflies, fell from the sky and crashed behind his eyes. Keith bit off his own cry. He needed to hear what Lance sounded like when he shook apart, and he was  _ not  _ disappointed. 

Lance’s voice grew cracked and pitchy; he wasn’t even trying to keep from being too loud. That rising, frantic crying twisted him higher and higher, a rush of fire through every inch of his body that left him quaking on the precipice. 

Whenever he’d felt the desire to take himself in hand, to relieve some of the purely physical need of his own body, it hadn’t remotely held a candle to  _ this  _ and it had everything to do with the boy beneath him. 

Everything was channeled through and amplified by Lance. His pleasure was Keith’s pleasure and with a final jolt, it exploded around them, raining sparks along every nerve as they came down together. 

[[x]]

Winded, panting, and awed, Keith propped himself up long enough to look at Lance, finding his own dazed expression mirrored there. It melted into the sweetest smile he’d ever seen, and Keith couldn’t help but pull Lance against his side when he flopped on his back. 

The sky looked strangely unchanged as Keith’s heavy eyelids began to droop. He wondered dimly how that could be possible, when his entire world had just undergone a tectonic shift that would leave him forever changed come the morning. 

With every breath, Keith sunk deeper and deeper. Sleep wrapped its arms around him, lulling him to follow. 

He felt more than heard Lance's words against his ear. They were whispered in secret puffs of air. It filled Keith with a cozy comfort as flowers bloomed around him and inside him. 

He'd worry about their meaning in the morning. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Autumn: Hope you enjoyed their *blossoming relationship* 
> 
> Sail: everyone kept their blankets right?
> 
> Like what we do? wanna hang out with us on Twitter? [Autumn Ignited](https://twitter.com/AutumnIgnited) and [SailUnchartedWaters](https://twitter.com/SailUnchartd)
> 
> Early access to chapters [are here](https://linktr.ee/sailunchartedwaters)


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: grab your blanket, i've warned you  
> revisit the tags, remember that there is no MCD in this
> 
> TW for fire
> 
> follow [Autumn Ignited](https://twitter.com/AutumnIgnited) for snakes and cowboy mugs, follow [SailUnchartedWaters](https://twitter.com/SailUnchartd) for bursts of adhd posting followed by silence 
> 
> Early access to chapters [are here](https://linktr.ee/sailunchartedwaters)

~🌸~

Lance blinked in the early morning light. Ugh, it was so bright. His blackout curtains must’ve-

_Wait._

He could feel Keith’s heart beating under his cheek, and the warm smell of leather filled his nose. He wasn’t at home, that was for sure. 

That’s right. Last night, he, with Keith. Swallowing around his dry mouth, Lance slowly, _slowly_ peeked up at Keith.

Oh, no. 

He was _beautiful_.

Lance sucked in a breath as he watched the breeze play with Keith's bangs, the final confirmation he needed to ensure he wasn’t dreaming. Last night, he’d really had sex with Keith. It was real and sweet and...slightly painful actually. Limb by limb, his body let him know just how bad of an idea it’d been to sleep on the ground. 

Lance itched one of the several new bug bites on his arm as he sat up to watch Keith, lips parted. A moth rested in his hair, cleaning its antennae between the dark locks. He’d take all the soreness in the world to be the one who enjoyed this view. 

His warmth must have been missed because Keith’s face screwed up in displeasure before he cracked his eyes open and peered up at Lance. He’d never seen anyone look quite so insulted by the existence of sunlight.

“L’nns?” He asked in a voice like sandpaper on gravel. 

“Hey.” Lance grinned and ignored the itch on his arm to kiss Keith’s nose. “Good morning, Sunshine.”

Keith rubbed his eyes, looking more like a toddler than a grown man who carried a switchblade...or twelve. “Wh’time’zzt?”

“Morning. Around sun o’clock.” Lance rested his chin on Keith’s chest and stared up his nose. Stubble was sprouting along his jaw and upper lip, and the bitemarks Lance had left behind were purple along his neck. “Breakfast time.”

Consciousness finally seemed to catch up with Keith, and the smile that slowly lit up his face was impossibly soft and delighted. “Hi. You’re real.”

Lance snorted and brushed Keith’s bangs out of his eyes, following the line of his jaw with reverent fingertips. “Did you expect me to turn into seafoam in the morning?”

“Kinda,” Keith admitted, nuzzling into the touch. “But I’m real glad you didn’t.”

“I dunno. Might’ve been kinda romantic.” He shifted to let Keith’s jacket fall from his shoulders and trailed his hand down his own neck, tracing the sore bites that littered his skin. “Then nothing would ever be allowed to spoil this moment.” 

“Don’t think anything could.” Keith’s smile became even more moony and ridiculous as he ran his hands through Lance’s hair. Then his stomach gave an audible grumble and he made a face. “‘Cept that, I guess.”

“See? Seafoam doesn’t need food. Maybe we should’ve both considered the option.” Lance curled to kiss Keith’s stomach then smiled back up at him. “How about hitting that pancake place to show off those pretty bruises I left all over you?” 

“You proud of those?” 

“A little.” 

Keith gave him a look and Lance crumpled. Under the heat of that gaze, Lance would tell Keith anything. “Okay, a lot. I like seeing them. It’s like I tattooed you.” 

“You sure did.” 

Keith took a moment to just look at him, continuing to run his fingers through Lance’s hair and watching it flop back into place. After another minute of contemplative silence, he hesitantly asked, “Are you, y’know...good? Was that okay?”

Lance closed his eyes. Keith was so _Keith_ sometimes. Always worried about anyone except himself and five times more gentle than his demeanor betrayed.

With a sigh, he stood up and held out his hands. “I’m sore, I smell, and I’m pretty sure I got eaten alive by you _and_ the bugs. Oh, and hungry. But, I’m more than okay; I’m fantastic. So let’s get breakfast, Haystack.”

“Yes, sir.” 

Keith took his hands and allowed himself to be hauled to his feet, brushing grass from his thighs. The little white moth finally decided Keith’s hair was no longer cozy now that it was moving, and fluttered away across the field. 

Lance let out a low wolf whistle now that he could see all of Keith in the full light of day.

Only then did Keith seem to remember that he was naked, and his hands twitched towards his crotch like he wanted to cover himself. He started hunting around for his pants instead, his hair a tangled riot and the imprint of the blanket patterned on his back. 

Lance watched the curve of his ass as he bent. Keith’s thighs were thick but the hair was thin until it reached his calves. He hefted Keith’s jacket around his shoulders, leaving the rest of himself unabashedly on display. “Wha’cha lookin’ for?” Lance asked, lazy and amused. 

“My pants,” Keith grumbled. “Where the fuck did they go?”

The black jeans caught Lance’s eye, half-covered by the blanket. Lance stepped over them, kicking the blanket to make sure they were totally obscured. “Hmm. They’re not over there?” He asked, pointing towards the cooler.

Keith crouched to move it, even going so far as to lift it and look under it. “What the _fuck_. They can’t have gone far. I’m not driving home pantsless.”

“I don’t know.” He framed Keith’s ass in the square of his fingers. “It’s a good look on you.”

The glare Keith sent him over his shoulder was withering. “You’re hiding them.”

“What?” Lance asked, holding out the word to sound extra guilty. “Now why would _I,_ your precious boyfriend who is very much enjoying the show, hide _your_ pants? How dare you accuse me of thievery.” 

“Uh-huh.” Keith sounded like he was going for ‘unimpressed’ but had made a sharp left turn into ‘amused.’ “I guess I have no choice but to show everyone the video I took of you snoring like a buzzsaw and drooling on me in your sleep.” 

"Liar, I sleep like an angel." Lance crossed his arms with a huff. The real leather of the jacket was softer on his bare skin than any of the faux stuff he owned. Lance felt a little guilty for liking it so much, but it wasn’t like _he_ bought it. Plus, it smelled like Keith. "Now I'm not telling you where I hid them." 

Keith smirked and crossed the blanket to him, taking Lance by the arms and leaning in. “Bet I can persuade you to give up your secrets.”

Lance’s stomach fluttered and he peered at Keith through his lashes. Dropping his voice, he whispered, "Yeah? And what makes you so sure, cowboy?" 

Keith’s breath brushed across his lips as he leaned in. Right before their lips touched, he attacked Lance’s bare sides instead. 

The tickles took a second to process when the kiss didn't come. Lance screamed in surprise and then broke out into laughter. “Stop stop, _okay_ , I give," he giggled. "They’re here, they’re here." 

“You’re trouble,” Keith replied, uninterested in mercy. “You know that?” 

Those wicked hands slid around his waist until they were hugging, but Keith didn’t stop there. He tightened his grip and bodily lifted Lance from the blanket, depositing him a few steps away.

Giddy and his cheeks painful from smiling, he kissed Keith’s nose. “I hid it under the blanket, but it was worth the punishment to get more time to admire that ass.”

“ _Trouble_ ,” Keith reiterated, but he was grinning, too. 

It didn’t take them long to pack up and get dressed. The bike ride home was as thrilling as the trip out - more so, actually, since he could still feel last night aching in his muscles. With the way Keith drove they were at the Pancake Palace in under thirty minutes. When Keith cut the engine, Lance found he missed the soothing vibration.

There was only one downside to last night: how he couldn’t seem to stop touching Keith. 

Wait, did he say downside? Because there were _zero_ downsides to the way Keith leaned into his every touch as shamelessly as Red and welcomed every secret kiss. 

Standing by a revolving glass pie case while they waited for a table, he kept finding excuses to slip his hand into Keith’s pocket or to lean in and murmur close to his ear. It earned them a few sidelong glances from the other early-morning patrons, but it wasn’t as if Lance cared what the denizens of Pancake Palace thought of them. The only thing he cared about was keeping Keith’s eyes on him for as long as he could.

Though at the moment, Keith was staring at the breakfast menu like it was something distasteful. “All of this has meat, lard, or butter. What the hell do they expect you to eat? Fruit?”

“I don’t think they expect me at all.” Lance found Keith’s foot under the table and dragged his toe up the calf. “What about the oatmeal? Maybe I can order it plain.”

“Yeah, but you can’t just have bread all the time.” Keith’s irritation faltered at the touch and he reached for Lance’s hand across the table. “Maybe we should quit our jobs and open a restaurant. Or - shit, I guess then I’d need to learn to cook.” 

Lance entwined their fingers. “I’d eat you any day.”

“ _Lance_ ,” Keith chided quietly. “How are we supposed to get through breakfast if you’re doing everything you can to rile me up again?”

“Sorry, sorry. I meant I’d eat your _cooking_ any day.” Lance rubbed his thumb over Keith’s knuckles. “But why are you getting so upset? Normally you just order your food, not look for the vegan section.” 

Keith looked grumpily back down to the menu, using his free hand to fiddle with the corner where the laminate was cracked and peeling. “I just...got in the habit of checking wherever I go now. See what places I can take you to or not, y’know? Where you’d have options...that kinda thing.”

“Aww. You like me.” Lance grinned, resting his foot next to Keith’s leg.

“Nah - you’re just a pain when you’re hungry.”

Lance tapped his toe against Keith’s thigh. “I’ll remember that.” His grin was cut off by his stomach growling. “Okay, maybe two bowls of fruit. You really took it out of me.”

Though he tried to play it off and recover, Lance didn’t miss the way Keith choked on his coffee. He wiped his mouth and gave Lance the most exasperated look. 

“Welcome to Pancake Palace,” a bored voice interrupted them, and they both turned to the waitress. She yawned through her words and stared at her notepad as she spoke - though how she could even see it through that much clumpy mascara was a mystery. “Where pancakes rule. I’ll be your server, what can I get you today?”

Before Keith could say anything, Lance asked, “Do you have any bananas, like whole ones, right off the bunch?”

The woman looked at him then, raising a penciled-on eyebrow. “You just want a banana?”

“Well, not _just_ a banana, but I only want one if it's like, in its shell.” Lance took a breath, trying to talk slower. “I don’t want a cut banana, I want a whole one.”

She shrugged. “Suitcherself. Anything else?”

“Plain oatmeal, no milk or butter, and two fruit cups.” He looked expectantly at Keith. 

Keith seemed to think he’d been given a cue. “Because he’s vegan,” he offered. 

“Uh-huh,” the waitress said at the same time Lance tapped Keith with his shoe. 

“Thanks, love, but I was looking at you because it’s your turn to order.”

“Right.” Keith cleared his throat and lifted his menu to partially obscure his face. “Uh. Number 8 with an orange juice.”

Only when the waitress had written down their order and left did Keith come out from behind his shield. He still looked a little abashed, but there was something light and hopeful in his eyes. “That was a new one. A step up from ‘haystack’ anyway.”

Lance grinned as he leaned on his fist. “I dunno. I like haystack better; it has good memories.”

“Long as that’s not the name you use the next time we’re naked,” Keith grumbled to the salt and pepper shakers. 

Not even trying to contain his smirk, Lance leaned forward to whisper, “Whatever you want, love.”

Keith just buried his face in his hands and groaned. 

Lance bit his lip, trying not to laugh. “And people call me dramatic.” 

Their food came out quickly, which wasn’t a surprise, since Lance’s required very little prep. Their waitress set their plates down dispassionately, as well as a little caddy with preserves and a syrup dispenser that looked like it had been through the wars. 

“Enjoy,” she lied, and left.

Keith may have been practicing his best turtle impression to escape Lance’s flirting, but he was 100% present with a stack of pancakes in front of him. He wasted no time slathering them with butter and absolutely drowning them in syrup. As it turned out, a Keith-bite of pancake was about one-third of the pancake itself. Or what had once been a pancake. 

Lance watched in awe as the pancake disappeared. He wasn’t even paying attention to his banana as he peeled it. He’d asked for it in order to deep throat it, of course, but he hadn’t been prepared for Keith deep throating his own breakfast in less time than it took to peel his fruit.

“You might want to try breathing between bites. I hear it keeps you alive,” Lance said against the point of his banana.

“Hey,” Keith said around a hamster-cheek bite. Thankfully, he at least swallowed before continuing. “You weren’t the only one who worked hard last night. Turns out, it takes a lotta calories to wear you out.” 

Lance snipped off the end of the banana, humming. He took his time chewing as he thought. “You know,” he said slowly, “I honestly wasn’t sure if we ever would, y’know.” To demonstrate the _y’know_ , Lance jacked off his banana with a few fake strokes. “I didn’t-” 

In no way had he planned to bring this up, ever. But, he realized with each halting word, there was a wound hidden under it all. The same voice that told him he wasn’t good enough was the one that had been telling him all the reasons Keith wouldn’t want him.

“I didn’t think you wanted to. With me.”

That was enough for Keith to put his fork down and turn the entirety of his attention on Lance. “What made you think that?”

Oh, _no_. This wasn’t what he wanted. He needed to say it, but not under the full force of Keith’s caring and serious eyes. Lance swallowed, nibbling on his banana to buy himself time. “Nothing really. It’s silly.”

“It’s not,” Keith insisted. “I wanna know, because I don’t wanna do it again.”

Lance put his banana down, picking at its skin. There went his whole plan to embarrass Keith with his banana antics. “It really is nothing. Just little things, like the cemetery...which I overreacted to, obviously.”

Keith’s nose wrinkled. “You thought I didn’t want to sleep together because we met up in a cemetery once?”

"No, God, I mean, that was weird but-" Lance sighed. He’d brought this up so he had to see this through. 

"You always stopped or pushed me away. I can’t really ever get a clear reading on you. The ghost hunt," he said, counting on his fingers, "The cemetery, my shop, your shop, you name it. None of them were good enough, so I started to think that it was me." 

“Ah, Lance.” Keith sighed and rubbed at his neck, letting it rest at the juncture of his shoulder. “It’s not - it was never you. Unless I trust someone and like them a lot, it just...doesn’t really happen for me. I’d never sleep with someone for the sake of it - only if I truly cared. I don’t know how else to explain it, and I know it’s weird but, I just -”

“It’s okay if you don’t know how to explain it,” Lance said, cutting into Keith’s rambling self-doubt. “But your feelings aren’t weird.”

Keith gave him a dubious look. 

“I mean it. You’d never let me say the - um, weird things I do are weird. Like when I kick things,” he said, kicking the booth. “Or bounce. Heck, you never even try to stop me. So, I’m not going to let you call yourself _weird_ because you need to have a connection before you have sex.”

There was a pause as Keith digested his words. His eyes, when he finally dragged them back to Lance, were full and earnest and shining with gratitude. “Well...you were my first. So that oughta tell you a lot right there.” 

_Oh._

Despite everything, it still seemed impossible that Keith would care about _him._ Keith was probably the only one of Lance’s friends that seemed to have his life figured out and knew where he belonged.

So to think that one of those places that he belonged was with Lance…

Lance hid behind his hands, mumbling into his palms.

The solace lasted a whole second before he felt Keith’s fingers gently wrapping around his wrists to tug them away. 

“Lance, Listen.”

Without the protection of his hands, he was back under the full blast of that caring gaze. “Yeah?” He couldn’t trust his voice much more than that.

Keith had his lips pinched tight as he searched Lance’s eyes. Then he sighed, a full-bodied thing that left him slumped a little against the cracked plastic of the booth. 

“It wasn’t that I didn’t want to. That wasn’t it at all. It’s just...it’s a big deal to me, you know? Being that vulnerable with someone? It takes a lot of trust, and building that trust took me a while. I’m not interested in sharing that with anyone I don’t deeply care about, and...well, turns out that person was you. And up until last night, I had to prepare myself for the fact that even though I wanted you, even though I’d built that up, you were still gonna leave and it was gonna hurt. _Bad_. But I would’ve shared it with you anyway, even if I hadn’t known. It had to be you. You’re...hell, I told you. I don’t wanna scare you, but I -” 

“Can I come over there?” Lance asked in a rush.

Keith snapped his jaw shut, blinking. “ _Uh_. Yeah? Yeah, of course.”

Lance slipped under the table, doing his best to ignore the gum stuck above his head and the bits of toast under his feet. He popped back up next to Keith’s thigh and wiggled onto the bench with a huff. 

Tucking one leg under him, he turned to Keith and took his face into his hands. It was hard to stare directly at Keith’s eyes, but he did his best, because this was important. “I’m happy it was me. I don’t think I could handle you caring about someone else.”

If only Past Lance who’d encountered Keith in the alleyway, holding a switchblade and looking like he’d sooner shank someone than say hi, could see him now. Keith’s dark eyes looked like they stung.

“I don’t think I could,” Keith admitted quietly. “But I don’t want that to scare you, or make you feel...I dunno. Stuck, or guilty, or obligated or nothin. You made it perfect and I’ll never regret it.”

Lance pulled Keith into a hug. “You’re really dramatic for a haystack,” he said into the scruff of Keith’s jaw. 

Lance could feel eyes on them, but he ignored them. Keith needed this - needed to know that he was perfect the way he was, and that Lance understood. It wasn’t until he heard the whispering that he looked up from over Keith’s shoulder. 

Right into the eyes of the same guy who’d threatened him at the general store. The one Keith was roughing up in the alleyway where they met. 

The dude’s eyes were narrowed over his ruddy red cheeks as he whispered to their waitress. It was too low to make out, but loud enough to know he was talking some kind of shit. When he noticed Lance watching him, he sneered and shook his head. 

Lance didn’t even think, he just stuck out his tongue. Mr. Balding-in-his-Twenties could fuck right off. He was having a _moment_ and he didn’t need assholes interrupting it.

Whatever his name was, the glare he sent back was outright hostile. Though he turned and disappeared into the kitchen, Lance caught their waitress eyeing their booth sidelong and fingering the crucifix on her necklace. 

Keith was still holding him, mumbling contentedly into Lance’s hair. “You give good hugs.”

“I also give good hugs outside. Maybe we should dip before we end up ruining someone’s breakfast.”

“Why?” Keith pulled back. “You think a little PDA is gonna give these geezers diabetes? Pretty sure it’s too late for that.”

Lance snorted, burying his head in Keith’s shoulder, but keeping his eyes on the kitchen door. “Not them, well, yes them. But I’m more worried about what’s-his-face.”

There was a lot that Lance adored about Keith, a lot of really good traits. He was a stand-up guy in a lot of ways, but the one thing he overwhelmingly lacked was subtlety. That, and any sense of self-preservation. 

Before Lance could hiss out a warning, Keith bodily turned right as the guy came out of the kitchen, balancing plates on either arm. 

“Oh.” The air practically crackled with audible static as the two of them locked eyes. “Didn’t know Dempsey worked here. Thought I smelled something sour.” 

“No fights,” Lance hissed under the clack and clatter of people eating. “This is a family establishment.”

“I’m not gonna fight him. Just gonna say a friendly hello,” Keith said innocently, before calling out, “Well good mornin’, Dempsey!” 

Keith slung his arm protectively across Lance’s shoulders. 

The guy - Dempsey, apparently - darkened his gaze, but looked away, opting to ignore Keith entirely. Most likely his manager was around or something, because if ever there had been a guy looking like he wanted to throw a punch for the sheer joy of it, it was Dempsey, the redneck pancake waiter. 

“Fuckin’ asshole,” was Keith’s astute assessment. “Maybe he wouldn’t be such a dick if his boyfriend was as talented with his mouth as you are.” 

Lance tilted his head to whisper in Keith’s ear, “Bet he doesn’t even let himself masterbate.”

“Or if he does,” Keith replied, voice tight with the effort not to laugh. “It’s to a magazine pin-up of just the Confederate flag.”

The laugh that burst from Lance was all carbonated joy that tickled inside his ribs and snorted through his nose. He clung to Keith as he tried to stifle his giggles to no avail. Keith made a very poor sound dampener, since he was laughing too. 

The worst part was everytime Lance tried to calm down, Keith’s laughter would just start him up again. 

Their poor breakfast was turning cold, but Lance didn’t care. Keith’s laugh was warm and raspy, his skin smelled like syrup and cut grass, and the circle of his arms was sure and safe. 

And anyway, they were doing this place a favor. Let the old people glower and the waitress clutch her metaphorical pearls. The two of them, bright and sunny and incandescent ( _and something else,_ his mind whispered, _you feel it and you know he feels it too_ )...

It had to be the most joy Pancake Palace had seen in years. 

~🌸~

As soon as Lance sent the mother and her four kids on their way with a bouquet of flowers, he was back on his phone.

He hadn’t stopped texting Keith since that night, except to sleep and even then sometimes he would send accidental gibberish. That wasn’t what he was staring at though; It was the text from Hunk.

It’d been forever since Hunk had texted him and Pidge never had. But there it was, a shiny new text from Hunk. It was a single picture of him and Pidge holding up plane tickets with _Happy early birthday_ above it.

His thumbs hovered over the keyboard. No, he couldn’t handle this right now. 

Lance swiped to open Keith’s last text message. “You know what you’d look really good in?”

**Haystack (3:34 pm):** This oughta be good.

**Haystack (3:34 pm):** What’s that?

(3:35 pm): My arms ;3

Lance watched the window but Keith must’ve been in one of the tattoo rooms. Not even Red was in her usual perch, sunning in the ledge under the neon sign.

He swung his legs as he waited for a text or for Keith to appear. He must’ve been with a client or something because despite his vocal dislike for texting, he was always quick to respond.

Sure enough, in another fifteen minutes or so, a guy walked out of Area 51 gingerly poking at his left arm. 

**Haystack (3:52 pm):**...That one was actually pretty good. Don’t suppose you’re offering? 

(3:53 pm): Maaaybe, you on break? They’re free if you want them.

**Haystack (3:53 pm): Your place or mine**

Lance jumped down, already grabbing his keys.

(3:54 pm): Omw <3

Irresponsible? Yes. Was he going to do it anyway? Abso-fucking-lutely. 

Lance locked the door and practically skipped across the street. He burst through the entrance of Area 51 and right into Keith’s chest with an _oof._

Keith’s smirk matched his voice, slow and amused. “You’re in an awful hurry. Goin’ somewhere?” 

“Yeah, right here. Also, hi.” Lance bumped their noses together. “Missed you.”

Bundling him up tight, Keith nuzzled into his hair and squeezed hard. “Missed you, too. You smell good. What is that?”

“Anxiety,” Lance giggled. “Just kidding, it’s lotion.”

Keith scoffed. “I’ve seen your bathroom. There’s a good chance you actually have a lotion named ‘Anxiety.’”

“I don’t think I’d buy anxiety. I already have enough.” Lance stole a quick kiss. “And it’s called ‘Sweet Gardenia Blossom’. I wore it so I could smell like my tattoo.”

“Heh.” Keith grinned and walked them both backwards until his back hit the check-in counter. In a swift, powerful movement, he had Lance hoisted and deposited on top, nestling himself between Lance’s legs and running his hands appreciatively up his thighs. “The only one not filled in yet.”

“Still,” Lance said, hooking his legs around Keith. “It’s my favorite out of all of them.”

Keith hummed and pressed in, nuzzling at Lance’s neck and kissing down the column of it. 

“Still gotta…” More kisses, slow and lingering. “Show you the ones downtown…”

Lance’s fingers itched to tangle in Keith’s hair, but instead he dug them into the cotton of his shirt. His toes curled as he tried not to think about someone walking in. “Yeah? Some other flower shop boy you’re hanging out with selling them?”

The soft chuckle against his neck vibrated his skin. “What would you do if there was?”

“Probably call your bluff.” Lance couldn’t hold back anymore. He wound his fingers through Keith’s hair, pulling it free from the tie. 

“Less sass, more kissing.”

Lance grinned and pulled Keith to him by the hair. “I like this new demanding Keith.” 

“Yeah?” Keith leaned in, teasing his lips across Lance’s. “Wonder what else I can get away with asking for.”

"There's only one way to find out." Lance nipped at Keith's lips and worked his way down the cut of his jawline. Keith practically purred under him. That was definitely worth filing away for later. 

“Z’that so,” Keith murmured, dark and golden as a spring storm. “In that case, how about…”

The rest of it he whispered against the sensitive shell of Lance’s ear. It tickled and sent goosebumps down his spine. Lance tried to hide the heat in his cheeks by burying himself in Keith’s shoulder.

“Yeah, if you want to,” he said, eyeing the door. If Keith didn’t remember to lock it, then Lance wasn’t going to say anything. The thrill that someone might walk in made his stomach tingle.

“Damn right, I do. So get comfy. I’m gonna be a while.” 

~🌸~

The sun was turning the sky a creamy sherbet orange when they finally straightened their clothes, not because they wanted to be done, but because Red started screaming for dinner. Once Keith had her majesty settled and fed, it was going on 6 in the evening. 

Lance’s shop had been closed for close to three hours - far longer than the sign on the door indicated. It was worth it, though. The attention Keith paid to him now was heady and addicting.

Keith looked up from his watch and then out the front window. “You got any interest in going for coffee? This is the perfect time to see those gardenias and it’s a nice night. Shame to waste it.” 

“Coffee from across the street?” Lance asked, stretching. His stomach still tingled and all he wanted to do was curl up and sleep. But coffee and one of those vegan snacks sounded amazing. 

“No, from the bakery down on Sofya. The one I told you about when I was painting your face? The garden’s in full bloom last I checked, and you did say gardenias are your favorite, so…” 

It was a little further than he really wanted to go but he’d rather get coffee than go home. “Sure, plus I could take pictures for Instagram.” 

Lance grabbed his phone from where it’d fallen out of his pants and onto the floor in their rush. It’d been a while since he’d posted anything to his personal Instagram and not Nemo’s Garden. Fiddling with the case, Lance hesitantly asked, “Actually, do you think you wanna be in it?”

Keith grinned and reached over to tuck a stray lock of Lance’s hair behind his ear. “Is that California for ‘Hey world, this is the guy I’m going steady with?’”

Lance snorted, ear still warm from the shadow of Keith’s fingers. “Maybe,” he confessed. Maybe he wanted everyone to see. “It’d definitely let all my friends know.”

“Then yeah. Absolutely.” He leaned in and kissed the corner of Lance’s lips. “I want the whole damn world to know I’m yours, and you’re mine.”

“It’ll be close. I have over 50,000 followers. But with your looks I think we can break a hundred thou’.”

Keith snorted, hard and unattractive. “That’s been your motive all along.” 

“Yes. I spent months seducing you to up my follower count. The gig is up. Arrest me officer, I’m guilty.” He held his wrists together.

“Mmmm, dunno how I feel about playing cop.” Keith made a face. “Reminds me of Shiro.”

“Well if that didn’t kill the mood.” Lance pouted, but it was erased before it could fully form. "C'mon, coffee time.”

With the warm weather came craft fairs, buskers, and all manner of families walking their dogs or taking up the old wrought-iron benches that sat between storefronts. It gave the impression that Peach Springs had fully bloomed, that spring was marching into summer, and that life was settling in for the long, humid haul. It was so different from Long Beach, a sleepy sort of feeling marked by the constant hum of June bugs and lazy light trails from fireflies. 

Keith tangled their fingers together and tucked them both into his jacket pocket - a habit he’d developed whenever they went for a walk. 

As they went down the hill past Hyperion and cut across to Sofya, Lance waved and greeted a few people who called after him. One of them was Sonny, who was enthusiastic in his greeting but informed them he “couldn’t talk, dudes, the acoustic spirits are moving me,” and he went back to plucking out whatever the hell that meant on his guitar. 

“This is my favorite time of year here,” Keith informed Lance, guiding them through a shortcut between Blue Dog (no thank you to going in _there_ ever again) and the used book store. “It smells good, there’s always music, everyone’s got their dogs out. There were a few neighborhoods like that in the city when I was a kid, and I used to hang out and people watch. Back then my biggest ambition in life was owning a grill and having a dog of my own so I could have summer cookouts like the families did.”

“What’s stopping you now?” Lance asked, pushing them into the shade and out of the fading light as they walked. It didn’t change much since the humidity could still get at them but it wasn’t quite hot yet anyway. It was more for the health of his skin than about escaping any lingering heat. “You have a place and I’m sure Red wouldn’t mind a sibling.”

“Well, for one, my ‘place’ is an attic - kind of a flammable one, actually, since it’s so old. And two,” he shrugged. “Same reason I don’t have a kitchen, I guess. The point isn’t to grill, it’s to grill for more than one. It’s a stupid ‘goal’ to begin with. I can use Shiro’s any time. It’s just nice to walk around and know I live in one of those places I used to watch, y’know?”

Lance thought about that for a while, letting the sounds of the town fill the silence. 

Keith seemed pretty successful and yeah, he’d said his place was small but Lance had assumed he meant a small house. It explained why he slept in the shop and had a cat instead of a dog. In all honesty, Lance had assumed that the quality of Keith’s art translated directly into money. 

He turned to Keith, determination on his face. “I’m paying for the coffee.”

Keith glanced at him in confusion. “Uh. Why? Where’d that come from?”

“I just thought-” Lance realized that he couldn’t just say that he thought Keith was fine when it came to money and had just realized he wasn't. That was probably rude. He laughed to cover up the awkwardness and scratched the inside fuzz of Keith’s pocket. “It should be my turn this time, is all.”

Keith seemed to buy that well enough and chuckled. “If I get coffee out of it every time I get on my knees for you, Flower Boy, you’re never gonna walk again.”

Heat rushed up Lance’s face and he turtled down into his shoulders. “Oh my God, Keith. What happened to the shy dude who didn’t even want to kiss me?”

“He refuses to let his boyfriend think he isn’t wanted,” Keith replied, matter-of-fact. “Because that’s not true for a second.”

Lance let the words warm him from the inside, basking in Keith’s unabashed affection. It shouldn’t have been surprising that Keith was so forceful with his feelings. He’d always been intense from the beginning. Lance couldn’t say he was mad that the intensity had turned into soft caresses and firm affirmation.

It was like a dam had burst after he’d voiced his concerns over breakfast - or at least that's how it felt to Lance. It was possible it was all in his head, but he couldn’t deny that after their little talk at the Pancake Palace, Keith had been no-holds-barred in letting Lance know exactly how he felt. 

As they turned the corner, Keith pointed. “There - that white church at the end of the street? That’s Eileen’s. The garden is behind it. You want coffee first, or you wanna see the flowers?”

“Flowers,” Lance mumbled, pressing close as they walked. The silence had gone on too long and now he was stuck in his head. “I’m not guilting you into being like this, am I? When I talked about you pulling away, I didn’t mean for you to make yourself uncomfortable trying to be nice to me.”

Keith jerked them to a stop and ducked down to catch Lance’s eye. “What? I’m not uncomfortable. I’m _happy._ And if making you happy means making how I feel a little more obvious, then that’s fine by me. I’m just...you know, usually not very good with words, is all.”

That made sense. There weren't words that could express the kaleidoscope of feelings that spun in his stomach whenever Keith was around. So instead, Lance stood on his tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek. He didn’t technically need to go up on his toes but he _wanted_ to. There was something about the action that felt like the kiss meant just a bit more than if he hadn’t. 

“Thanks,” he whispered against Keith’s skin. “It does make me happy.”

That brought the shy flush back to Keith’s face, along with a little smile. “Good. C’mon - this way.”

Keith led him past the front door of Eileen’s and into a little cobblestone alley beside the old church. It was moss and ivy-choked with a trellis overhead that blocked out the growing twilight with hanging wisteria. Lance could smell the gardenias before he even saw them.

The alley opened up into a modest garden that spanned the backyard of both the church and the library next to it, with the same uneven stones winding between neat hedges and wildly unpruned gardenia bushes. A stone fountain in the middle trickled soothingly, but otherwise, the only sound was the chirp of crickets and wind rustling through the magnolia trees beyond the back fence. 

“How-” Lance cut himself off to take a slow spin. Finally, he rested his gaze on Keith. “How come you’ve never shown me this before!” It came out angrier than he’d meant it to, but in truth, he _was_ a little miffed. 

Keith frowned and held up his hands in defense. “It wasn’t in bloom before! And I _did_ offer, you just thought I was going to murder you.”

Lance huffed, crossing his arms and making sure it came off as dramatic instead of upset. “Yeah well, you could’ve brought me at knife point.”

“Sure.” Keith rolled his eyes and stuffed his hands into his jacket pocket. “Well, you’re here now. And I take it you like it.”

“I love it!” It was honestly breathtaking. Lance would’ve enjoyed it even out of bloom. It was so peaceful, like a slice of Eden between renovated pizza shops and Revolutionary War museums. “I love,” he said, swallowing, “that you brought me here. Thank you.”

“‘Course.” Keith took a seat on one of the benches, stretching his arms along the back of it. “Glad it was worth it. This is where I came to sketch your tattoo. Well, here and the graveyard.”

Oh if that wasn’t _so_ Keith. Lance turned, a quip ready on his lips, but his breath was stolen from his lungs and he swallowed down his words.

The wisteria framed Keith from above and flowers haloed his face from behind. He didn’t even look out of place like Lance would’ve imagined. Instead, he contrasted the softness of the flowers like leather and lace. Perfectly hard against the delicate backdrop.

Lance gripped his phone, toes curling in his shoes. He wanted to keep this scene in his memory forever. 

A few quick steps and he was standing in front of Keith, knees touching. “Is this seat taken?”

Keith smirked. “I could be persuaded to share.”

Lance gathered his confidence and sat squarely on Keith’s lap. “I hope you’re ready for your social media debut.”

“...As I’ll ever be, I guess.”

Giggling, Lance got a little more comfortable on Keith’s lap and opened his camera. They took a few pictures with and without some filters. The light was perfect, not too bright and the shadows darkened the moonlight sheen on Keith’s black hair. 

Honestly, they were some of his best pictures. But maybe he was biased since Keith was in them. “There, how about this one?”

Keith peered at it and shrugged. “Better than the ones where you gave us dog ears and sparkles.”

“Aw, I like that one.” Lance posted the chosen picture, trying not to think too hard about what he was doing. “But puppy Keith is for my eyes only.”

“Or the trash. That’s a good option, too.”

Lance elbowed him with a roll of his eyes. “Hilarious.” He stared at the picture as the likes jumped up and the comments poured in. It’d been a while since his last update but it seemed all his followers were as thirsty as ever, even if it wasn’t surfing pictures. 

“Hey, Keith?”

Keith had been running his hands through Lance’s hair, and leaned in to kiss the back of his neck. “Hm?”

“My friends want to visit me. Y’know, from California.” 

“Oh.” Keith squirmed a little underneath him, but his voice didn’t betray much about how he felt about this development. “That’s good, right? I know it’s been a while for you.”

A while? It felt like a whole lifetime. If Hunk and Pidge visited, it meant the reality of his life somewhere else was going to invade his little bubble in Peach Springs. Lance was going to have to confront what he would be leaving behind if he took over the shop and stayed.

It was a lot easier to forget about Hunk and California when they were only pictures in his phone. It was easier to get lost in the daily tasks of life and Keith’s kisses. Easier than the effort it took to keep up with friends who didn’t bother to text. 

“Yeah, it's good.” Lance turned in his Keith-chair to face him. “Do you think you want to meet them?”

Keith’s expression was searching and reserved, but soft around the edges. “Do you want me to?”

Did he? How real would it make everything, his decision to stay, the loss of his dream university, the fact that he was going to live in the South? Trying to imagine Keith side by side with Hunk and Pidge seemed impossible. They were worlds apart. 

But that didn’t mean he wanted to hide Keith away like some secret.

“Yeah. Yeah, I do. Although I fear what kind of pair you and Pidge would make. Plus, you were two seconds away from dating Hunk instead and you hadn’t even met him. Once you do, you’ll realize you got the short end of the stick.” 

“I sincerely doubt that,” Keith murmured, accent thickening with the quiet way he whispered it against Lance’s knuckles as he brought them up for a kiss. “I’d be happy to meet them. They’re part of your life, and I want to share that with you.”

“Oh.” He buried himself into Keith’s shoulder for a hug. “Okay. But don’t stop playing with my hair.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

The days were warmer but the nights could still be chilly, so they didn’t linger too long after sunset. Eileen’s wasn’t as busy as Hyperion, but there were still ten or so occupied tables, mostly of local college kids desperately trying to stay awake or holding their pretentious books up high so everyone could see how worldly and intelligent they were. Keith looked awfully out of place, but he was relaxed next to Lance, keeping a hand on the small of his back as they approached the counter. 

The barista was kneeling to fumble under the counter for something, but when she straightened, she had a distinct mop of red hair that instantly had Lance tensing. 

“Well hey, there, Keith!” Maryanne chirped, all smiles. To her credit, her expression didn’t falter a bit as she turned it on Lance. “Mr. Fuentes. How y’all doing?” 

It wasn't worth it to correct her. Lance rolled his eyes up to the menu. "Yeah, um, I'll take a regular soy latte, hot." 

She picked up a cup from the stack and wrote his order on it. “Flavored?”

"Uh," Lance looked at Keith. 

“Are they vegan?” Keith asked with no hesitation. Maryanne blinked.

“I didn’t know you were vegan, Keith,” she half-pouted, as if Keith should be expected to inform her of his dietary habits. 

“I’m not,” he said easily and pulled Lance closer by his waist. “But my boyfriend here is.” 

"Boyfriend?" Maryanne wrinkled her nose as she flicked her eyes to Lance. "Oh, you mean your friend. I don't know, Mr. Fuentes, I guess they are." 

"No flavor is fine," Lance said with a sigh. Always having to ask and no one ever knowing was seriously wearing on him. Every time they went somewhere new he always ended up being a burden. 

“No,” Keith corrected, “as in Lance, the guy I’m with. Romantically. Because he’s a boy and I’m gay. A boyfriend.” He glanced down at Lance as if to ask _did I do it right? Was that correct?_

“Oh my God,” Lance whispered under his breath. How did this man function on a daily basis? He hid his amusement behind his hand. Fuck, he only fell harder every time Keith opened his perfect, awkward mouth. 

_“_ My boyfriend Lance who is vegan,” Keith continued, “so would you mind going to check for us, please? I’d appreciate it.”

“Oh.” Maryanne’s voice was as tight as her smile. “Sure, be right back.”

Turned out that only the vanilla and hazelnut were vegan, though Lance had no idea what was in the others that could make them not. Sometimes ingredient lists were a mystery. But at least he had options, which was more than some places. 

He ordered a vanilla shot in his and Keith ordered some kind of monstrosity masquerading as coffee somewhere under all the sugar.

As soon as he finished Lance shoved him out of the way with his hip. "My treat, remember? Go find us a table." 

Keith chuckled. “Yes sir.”

When Keith’s back was turned, Maryanne’s friendly smile dropped into a tight-lipped approximation of customer service. “That’s 6.79, Sir. And - uh. Congratulations?”

Lance handed over his card, trying his best not to grin too wide. Poor girl just had her heartbroken and she was just a kid. Even if it was a crush that wasn’t ever going to go anywhere, Lance knew from experience what she was going through. 

“Thanks. And I’m sure there’s someone else out there closer to your age that is looking at you the way you look at Keith.”

He could almost see her jaw clench, could watch the confusing mix of emotions play over her features. “Yes, Sir. I’ll have your drinks in just a second.”

“Uh, okay.” That was the last time he’d ever try to bestow wisdom on the youth. 

He stepped out of the way to wait at the other end of the counter. With nothing else to really do, he fiddled on his phone as he waited. 

And since the only thing he really ever did on his phone was text Keith, he texted Keith.

(7:05 pm): Hey, hot stuff, you’re looking lonely, if you’re not taken I’d be happy to warm a chair next to you

He could see the wry smile and affectionate shake of Keith’s head as he checked his phone from all the way across the room. 

**Haystack (7:06 pm):** Yeah, left high and dry. You gonna make it better? 

(7:06 pm): Wow. Do you always say yes to any cute boy who texts you? When were you going to tell me we broke up?

The sound of Keith’s soft laughter carried, even over the hum of conversation and the clink of cups on plates.

**Haystack (7:07 pm):** It’s just so cute when you pout 

Maryanne placed the finished drinks down, startling Lance out of his dumb grin. “Thanks,” he said, but she was already walking away.

He pocketed his phone with a shrug and carried the drinks over to their table. “Seat taken?”

Keith didn’t look up from his phone. “What’s the password?”

“Password? Uh… Please?”

“It’ll do.” Keith shrugged. “But next time I get a kiss.”

“Or this time.” Lance placed the cups down as he pecked the top of Keith's head. “There. You’re still taken by the way.”

“Noted.” Keith accepted his cup and took a sip, hummed thoughtfully, and took another. “It’s not bad. Not great, but not bad. How’s yours?”

"I wasn't expecting Mr. Five Sugars to be a coffee snob." Lance snorted and took a sip of his latte. 

That was… odd. 

Keith raised an eyebrow. “That good, huh?”

"It's not bad, just…" Lance took another sip and the coffee stuck to the back of his throat. He clicked his tongue against it, trying to rid it of the phlegm. 

He eyed the cup. Maybe he'd taken the wrong one. _'_ _Funtis'_ was written next to soy latte + vanilla. 

"Tastes funny. Let me see yours." 

Keith slid his cup over - _Keith❤︎Koganay, soy + vanilla + 6 sugar._ “Doubt mine’s gonna taste much better to you.” 

Lance tentatively sipped Keith’s and winced. “Fuck that’s sweet, babe.” Still, under all the sugar, the weird flavor wasn’t there. Maybe it was the flavor shot? “Here, can you try mine?”

Shrugging, Keith took a sip of Lance’s and frowned. “Huh. It kinda tastes like…” His eyes narrowed suspiciously. 

That was all it took for Lance to know. It was one thing when he chose for himself to eat his Abuelita's cooking. That was him deciding to eat meat because he loved his grandmother and his heritage. But this…

There was no way that Maryanne had made one soy and one milk when they were both soy. There was nothing to mix up. This was someone purposefully forcing him with malicious or joking intent. Either way, it wasn’t funny. 

“It’s milk, isn’t it.” It wasn’t a question. 

Keith’s expression darkened. “Stay here.”

“No wait, Keith.” Lance did his best to hide the cascade of emotions behind a smile. “It’s fine. Let’s just go to Hyperion.” 

The look Keith shot him said he wasn’t interested in that plan at all. “No. I let it go with Dempsey at the pancake place, I’m not letting it go again.”

Lance bit his lip against the internal battle inside him. Before Lance could make up his own mind on whether Keith should confront a highschooler about coffee, he was gone.

It was only a few strides to the register. Lance was half up out of his chair by the time Keith knocked on the counter. Slowly he sat down as Maryanne’s head popped out from behind the espresso machine with a tense customer-service smile.

He couldn’t hear what they said. Keith kept his voice low and tense, but he could see the ferocity in the set of his brow and the moment when Maryanne’s expression crumbled and grew watery. Keith didn’t seem interested in her sniffling and continued talking while Maryanne tried valiantly to keep herself together. The minute Keith turned around, she fled into the back room. 

The anger was rolling off of him in palpable waves as he stalked back to their table, grabbing Lance’s wrist. “Let’s go.”

“What did you say to her?” Lance asked, stumbling to follow. He craned his neck back to stare at the empty counter, trusting Keith to guide him.

Keith didn’t answer. His shoulders were tight, his grip a little too firm. Only when they got outside did he let go, clenching and relaxing his fists at his side. 

Lance grabbed one of his hands and massaged it. “Hey - I’m fine. It’s not like I’m actually allergic or anything.” It wasn’t like Lance _wasn’t_ mad. It was just seeing Keith so angry on his behalf sent him into overdrive with the need to convince Keith it was all okay.

“It’s not fine!” Keith exploded, gesturing towards the old church. “What if you had been? You could’ve had a reaction, closed your throat up, or something. That shit’s dangerous! I get she’s a kid, but there’s consequences for this kinda stuff!”

“Okay, yeah, you’re right, it's not fine. But I didn’t get hurt. Nothing except my morals, anyway.” Lance moved up his hand to his wrist, massaging the tight muscles. “Was it-” He swallowed, not really sure he wanted a confirmation. “Did she do it on purpose?”

The dark scowl on Keith’s face was answer enough. 

“Oh.” Lance swallowed down the sting of bile in his throat. His fingers paused their administrations as that sunk down, cold and dark, settling heavily in his stomach. “That wasn’t very nice.”

“She sure as hell won’t be doing it again,” Keith snapped, then ran a hand through his hair. “I just - I don’t fucking get it. I didn’t get shit like this when I moved in, even when people thought I was some kind of juvie charity case, and now it seems like we deal with it every other week or something.” 

Lance returned Keith’s arm as too many thoughts rushed through him like a tidal wave. He hugged himself, digging his nails into his skin. “We _have_ been kinda reckless. I mean, it’s the South, Keith. I don’t know if you’ve noticed but I’m Cuban and you’re gay. Stereotypes are stereotypes for a reason, they say.”

Keith couldn’t have frozen over any quicker if they’d gotten caught in an arctic storm. His jaw snapped shut and he stared hard at the uneven brick that made up the sidewalk. 

“Sorry.” Because what else could he say? He couldn’t change his skin color or his sexuality or the way he felt about Keith. The only thing he could do was apologize for all the trouble he’d gotten Keith into. 

The silence between them stretched on for an uncomfortably long time. Finally, Keith spoke - not to Lance, but to the cracks in the ancient brickwork. 

“I just thought it was different here.”

“I’m sorry,” Lance said again, but this time he was trying to apologize for the entire world being the way it was. 

Unclenching his fingers, he dragged them across Keith’s cheek to tuck a loose strand of hair behind his ear.

“I’m not stopping. Or changing. Or being less than I am.” Keith glanced at Lance sidelong, and his eyes were fierce and intense under the glow from the streetlights. “I refuse.”

“Then we’ll probably have to keep dealing with stuff like this forever.”

Keith licked his lips, but didn’t have a counter for that. 

Lance sighed. It honestly wasn’t that big of a shock to him, but he hadn’t had the highest opinion of the South in the first place. Keith though...Keith loved this town. It had saved him. And being confronted with the fact that it wasn’t all Goolricks and Hyperions was probably a shock. 

“C’mon. I wanna go home,” Lance said, and meant ‘home’ to their safe haven. To where everyone was supportive and kind. 

“...I’ll give you a ride.”

Something in the air had shifted between them, souring the early summer breeze. There was a barrier around Keith that'd never been there before. Lance wasn’t sure if he was allowed to touch him, so he didn’t.

The distance was twice as long on the return trip as they walked side by side back to Keith’s bike. Now and then their hands would brush. Stiff and unsure, Lance shoved his hands in his pockets. 

Keith coughed to get his attention. “I told you, I’m not changing.” He held out his hand with a questioning eyebrow. 

It was completely open; an option for Lance to accept or refuse.

Relief melted the muscles of his shoulders and unclenched his jaw. The sour air around them sweetened slightly as Lance slipped his hand into Keith’s. 

“From the day I met you, I didn’t think you were the kind of person who was into change anyway.”

“Damn straight. Or - well, y’know.”

Lance let a small smile crinkle his eyes as he bumped Keith playfully. 

The air really was sweeter now. Like the burning of fragrant wood or a summer campfire that drifted through the backstreets as they walked. 

Lance sneezed into the crook of his arm. “Smells like someone’s having a BBQ.”

“More like a bonfire,” Keith said, handing him a clean handkerchief. “Allergic to smoke?”

“No. It just irritates my nose.”

“Pretty sure that’s the definition of allergic.” 

Lance backhanded Keith’s shoulder, the leather of his jacket absorbing most of the impact. “Shut up.” 

Keith kissed the top of his head as they stepped out of the alley. Quite a few people were milling around. Most were staring at the starry sky above them, pointing at the constellations or something. “Lots of people tonight. Maybe it's a block party.”

“A block party and we didn’t bring any pineapples.” Lance giggled at the very _done_ look on Keith’s face.

The smoke smell was thicker here and Lance rubbed his nose. He looked at Keith, about to make another southern hospitality joke, but the words died on his lips. 

Keith was glaring at the sky, his dark irises reflecting the streetlights. Slowly, they widened as realization dawned across them. Horrifying, terrifying realization.

“What is it?” Lance asked, even as he turned to see what Keith was staring at. It wasn’t the stars.

Huge plumes of black smoke hung in the air. Angry and jet black and burning. Under the star-speckled sky, they reflected the orange and red of the destruction below. 

“A fire?” But the end of his sentence turned into a gasp as Keith ran, tugging Lance with him. 

His mind was blank as he let Keith pull him along. Lance jogged to keep up but his eyes were on the sky. A fire.

A fire on Main Street.

No.

_Oh no._

It couldn’t be. _Please, don’t let it be._

Lance tore his eyes from the burning clouds. Numbly he thought _Keith’s hair is as dark as the smoke_. It bounced with every step, silky and loose from its braid. Lance stared at it.

Concentrated on it like a lifeline. 

He watched the streetlights skim over it as they ran, watched it unravel with every step, watched it because if he didn’t, everything would fall apart. Because if he didn't, _he_ would fall apart. 

The world slowed and narrowed until it was just concrete and running and the bouncing of Keith’s braid. 

It was fine. There was no way it was Nemo’s Garden. And it couldn’t be Area 51. It couldn’t be. 

Maybe it was the haunted record shop or one of the dozens of antique shops. There were tons of possibilities, so many other shops that could burn. But then why did his heart drop with every step? 

Sirens invaded Lance’s tiny world. Flashing lights blotted out his view of Keith’s hair with blinding red. A strobe of red, blue, red, blue. A firetruck’s harsh warning overlaying the stunned horror of Keith’s frame. 

Lance was panting as they came stumbling to a halt at the corner. People were packed in the street behind the fire truck. 

Lance couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t _breathe_. 

Ringing replaced all sound as he stared at the flames rising from Nemo’s Garden.

Ash drifted around him as flames licked out of the shattered windows. He could almost see the shattered paint of his sign littering the asphalt and reflecting the blaze above it. 

“My bike!” Lance surged forward, only to be stopped with an arm around his waist.

“Stop,” a voice commanded in his ear, harsh and desperate. “Lance - no, baby stop, you can’t!”

Tears welled in his eyes but he refused to blink. “My bike, my plants, my tanks.” He flailed against Keith’s strong arms, trying to run in or to turn back time. “Abuelita’s shop!” All his memories, all his hard work was burning. He had to stop it. He had to save it. 

“Shh. It’s - it’s gonna be okay,” Keith mumbled, and they both knew he was lying. Lance struggled against the unyielding grip, leaning his whole body weight forward to escape.

Flames leaped from the roof, scattering on the adjacent shops. Smaller fires caught as the flame spread and the crowd pressed closer. Someone was yelling to get back but no one listened.

Keith bundled him close, panting wet, shuddering breaths against his neck. 

Lance slumped against him. All the fight in him burnt away along with his shop. 

Gone.

All of it.

“I’m sorry,” Keith whispered, smoke-thick and laced with tears. “Christ...baby, I’m _so sorry_.”

Lance turned to hide in Keith’s jacket, but the afterimage was burnt into his eyelids. It always would be. There would be no escape. “Why? What did I do?” he sobbed into Keith’s shoulder.

Keith just shook his head and held him so hard his leather jacket creaked.

Lance sucked in breath after breath but it never filled his lungs. He clung to Keith like a rock as the storm inside him threatened to pull him to sea. Only the soft strokes of Keith’s hand down his back held him in place.

He had no idea how long they stood there. Long enough for the fire to be quelled and the police to arrive and start asking questions. Still, he clung to Keith.

His phone vibrated.

The last thing he wanted was to talk to the outside world. It was more out of habit than anything that he stared at the screen through ash and tears.

**Lita (8:13 pm):** Good news, mijo, I pulled some strings and the shop is all yours!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to our beta Nesta who suffered first!!
> 
> Sail: Not only have had this planned since creating this idea, but I've had the ending of the chapter, including the last line, planned. It feels so good for you to finally see all the small hints and foreshadowing come to its climax. I'm also surprised that out of all the guesses in the comments about what the Big Event was, this was not ever guessed, even though the foreshadowing starts in the intro of ch 1 :3c
> 
> You can take it out on me, it only feeds my whumpicorn who whispers evil plotlines in my ears. Feel free to scream at us on Discord/twitter as well
> 
> Only two more chapters, though some people are already begging for an epilogue. We'll seeeeee, if you still want an epilogue by the end, I can add one last chapter for you. <3
> 
> follow [Autumn Ignited](https://twitter.com/AutumnIgnited) they're the nice one  
> fallow [SailUnchartedWaters](https://twitter.com/SailUnchartd) if forgetting to reply to comments is your gender
> 
> Early access to chapters [are here](https://linktr.ee/sailunchartedwaters)


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check us both out on Twitter [Autumn Ignited](https://twitter.com/AutumnIgnited) and [SailUnchartedWaters](https://twitter.com/SailUnchartd)

~🌸~

Abuelita wasn’t awake when Lance went to deliver the news. She’d just fallen asleep for a nap, the orderly informed him, so Lance had at least an hour to wait. She offered to show him to the little cafeteria with its dual hot chocolate and jet fuel coffee dispenser, but he declined. He’d had enough coffee to last a lifetime. 

The visitor’s room where he waited was homey for an old folks’ home - not that Lance had visited many. Mostly just Kay, though he supposed that was a retirement community. They were probably different. 

Unlike Kay’s cute neighborhood, this place was a lot more like a mix between a hospital and a house. It was populated by overstuffed floral chairs and emerald green wallpaper, with a host of table lamps set to a dim setting. Somewhere, someone was playing old-timey crooner music but with a distinct southern twang. Everyone was drinking iced tea. 

That was how he’d gotten through the last two days - numbly observing things without really feeling them. He moved from chair to chair and task to task without ever really being present for any of it. 

It was too hard to feel. If he let himself feel, then he wasn’t sure if he could stop. It was just easier to push everything down. 

_You’re so cold,_ echoed the voices from his past.

Maybe he really was cold compared to other people. Lance wrapped his arms around himself. But, this was just _easier._ The deeper he buried himself, the less things could hurt him.

Two songs had blurred into each other and it had begun to rain by the time the orderly came to fetch him and take him to Lita’s room. 

He hadn’t actually seen it since she’d been admitted. Doing so would have meant acknowledging that she could no longer live alone in the tiny old house with the crooked porch swing and the smell of woodsmoke seeping into the carpeting. He hadn’t even gone inside the last time he’d picked her up. Now he might never have the chance. 

Lita’s room was smaller than Kay’s, but was populated floor to ceiling with growing things. Every available surface was covered in ivy or succulents or other hearty houseplants. It didn’t seem like her room got much sun, but she’d clearly been determined to make it as green as possible.

Amid the waxy leaves and hanging vines, Lita’s bed looked tiny, and she looked smaller still - frail and dozing with her thin hair all over the pillow and the rain casting shadows on her skin. 

“Hey, Miss Mariposa, you’re looking lovely tonight,” Lance said in his fake southern accent, the one that made Keith roll his eyes and not talk to him until he showered him in kisses.

His grandmother stirred and sat up, her sleepy face breaking into a crinkly smile as she held her arms up. “Hello, my wonderful surprise!”

“An hour and then she has music class,” the orderly said before she closed the door behind him. 

Lance ignored how trapped he felt. He didn’t want to think about Lita in here all the time with no escape and no family. With sure steps, he cut across the room to wrap Lita in his arms.

She squeezed him with more force than her tiny body betrayed. “You get more handsome every day.” 

“It’s cuz I take after you.” Lance sat back with a smile, but took her hand in his. “How are you feeling?”

Lance made himself comfortable on the edge of her mattress as he listened to her talk, animatedly recounting how one of the other ladies kept cheating at bridge and how some of the men overdid their cologne because they were trying to flirt. If he kept his eyes lidded and let his eyelashes blur the room, he could pretend he was back in her house. 

“Enough about me. How are you doing, mijo?” she asked, eyes shining with pride.

“Me?” That was why he was here, but he couldn’t deny that he wanted to avoid the question. Part of him was thinking about not having the conversation at all. Lance blinked down at their entwined hands, unable to look his grandmother in the eyes. “Actually...about that, Lita. That’s why I’m here. It’s about the shop.”

She blinked at him. “What do you mean?”

Her hand was thinner than his and covered in so many wrinkles. Lance traced them over the thick veins that stood out dark against her brown skin. He took a deep breath and looked her in the eyes.

It was just a building. It was nothing.

“The shop burned down, Lita. They’re investigating it right now, but-” 

Her face wrinkled further as she scrunched her nose in confusion - exactly the same way he did. “What shop? Whose shop?”

“Nemo’s - _your_ shop, the one I took over. _Fuentes’ Flowers_.” Lance sighed, doing his best to keep his head up. “The fire took out our shop and the antique shop next to it. It’s gone, Lita,” he said quietly as if his volume would soften the blow.

Lita frowned, her gaze unfocused as she thought. “Oh, down the street, next to Papa’s? It’s a beautiful shop. I would like to own one just like it one day.”

Lance opened his mouth and then snapped it shut. There was something about her eyes, wide open but unseeing, that scared him. 

In that moment, he finally understood what watching her succumb to Alzheimer’s was going to be like, because this? This wasn’t his grandmother. 

He swallowed hard. _Remember what the doctor said - just agree, let it pass._ “You will one day, Lita.”

She smiled and rubbed her thumb along the back of his hand. “Have you been there, mijo? It always smells so good, especially next to the bakery where they make the special, _oh_ , what were they called, the little rolls that are sweet but fried…”

She went on for nearly half an hour, recounting the street from her childhood in great detail, but in a strange middle ground where she still lived there and Lance did, too. It was terrifying and also desperately sad, and it made him want to grip her shoulders and shake her back to the present. To yell at her that her shop, _their_ shop, the one they’d both poured so much work into, was now nothing but ashes and burnt timbers. To scream that he’d _failed_ her in the worst way through something that wasn’t even his fault. To not be quite so alone in his grief. 

Instead, he smiled and nodded as he shoved all the emotions deeper and deeper until he didn’t have to feel them anymore.

Not that he could really hear her. Buzzing drowned out everything and he was pretty sure he was floating away from his body. He needed to stay in that numb spot, to pretend this wasn’t happening. 

Lance never thought he'd be so happy to be interrupted by staff.

“Mrs. Fuentes, it's time for music class.”

His grandmother rolled her eyes and clicked her tongue in disapproval. “ _Music class_ ,” she griped. “And after that, crafts and a snack! Did you know that when you are old, you go back to kindergarten, mijo?” 

“No, Lita. But it sounds like fun.” Lance smiled as best he could and gave her a final hug. “Love you,” he whispered in her ear.

She reached up and patted his cheek, kissing into his hair with a loud smack. “And I love you. Next time, you bring Keith. Tell him that I’m very mad he hasn’t come to see me.”

"I will," Lance lied. 

He shoved the new downpour of emotion away as he stood. Lance didn't want to think about Keith and he didn't want to think about the shop. The small part of him that hoped he'd leave here with advice or at least shared grief was dashed against the rocks as he ignored the storm swelling. 

"See you soon." 

He waved as Lita was led from the room and saw himself out.

~🌸~

Lance stared at his phone. 

Life was moving all around him, refusing to stop and let him catch his breath. Hunk and Pidge were scheduled to arrive this week and he hadn't talked to Keith since that night. 

The stream of messages stopped yesterday with 

**Haystack (5:47 pm):** I just want to know you’re okay is all 

It wasn't like Lance didn't want to see Keith; he did. His body ached to be held and feel like nothing could hurt him while Keith was there. 

But seeing Keith meant talking and Lance couldn't even muster a text. 

Instead, he curled deeper into himself. 

Shiro was supposed to meet him at the shop to let him know the findings of the investigation. But somehow turning the corner and seeing the shop again would just confirm how real it all was. 

So, he leaned against the brick building on the corner and stared at Keith's texts. 

"C'mon, Lance, you can do this. Don't be an asshole," he coached himself. Holding his breath, he typed out a reply. It was simple and not what Keith deserved, but-

Shiro's patrol car rolled down the street and Lance pocketed his phone without hitting send. 

"Later," Lance promised himself. 

He jogged to meet Shiro, eyes glued to the sidewalk. The smile Shiro gave him hurt more than if he’d just hauled off and slapped Lance across the face. The pity was in every premature crinkle at the corners of his eyes and bracketing his nose. 

Dimly, somewhere in the hazy space at the back of his mind, Lance wondered if those creases were Keith’s fault. 

“Hey, there, Lance. How’re you holding up?” were the first words out of Shiro’s mouth, because _of course_ , _they were_. Couldn’t just wallow in the South, evidently - the ‘everyone in your business’ mentality extended to hard times as well. 

"M’fine." 

He tried to stare at anything except his shop. But the harder he tried the more he focused on his peripheral. 

The hollow shell that he'd sunk all his money into was ash. The burnt ends of wood stuck out from the foundation like jagged tombstones. Inside, the heart of Nemo's Garden was black and deformed, the displays half-melted. 

He heard Shiro’s exhale, a sound he was trying to mask as something other than a sigh. “You don’t need to go through if you don’t want to, but we did find a few things that were salvageable. Might be sentimental? They’re at the station if you want to swing by sometime soon.”

“Yeah, I’ll do that,” Lance told Shiro and himself. He really needed to get something, _anything_ done. “So, the police report for the insurance claim…”

“I have it right here for you.” Shiro passed him a folder from the inside of his jacket. “Essentially, it just came down to old wiring.”

Lance flipped through the papers without reading them, a frown creasing his brows. “Wiring? But I just got that fixed, like, a few months ago.”

Shiro sighed and ran a hand through the front of his salt-and-pepper hair. “I know. Keith did, too. But it looks like it might’ve either been a faulty patch or a problem in the antique store.”

“If it started in the antique store then why did my shop burn?” Lance stared numbly at the papers, their black and white text blurring into blocks of gibberish. 

“Your shops were once one building. There’s technically a hub for some of your wiring on Cliff’s side.” Shiro frowned and nodded at the folder. “That’s the most likely explanation anyway, according to our forensics guys.”

Lance finally took in the husk that was his shop. Stared at it like it’d betrayed him. “But I got it fixed,” was all he could say. He’d been responsible, so why had he been punished? 

It was unrecognizable. There was no way this was his Grandmother’s shop, there was no way this was _his_ shop. Everything blurred and he felt like he was floating away again so he quickly turned to Shiro. 

Shiro was a real adult. Shiro was a cop. He could fix this. “What do I do now?” 

“Well…” Shiro glanced up at the shop, pressing his lips together as he took it in. “There’s the insurance claim. That will go a long way in covering losses, but...I guess that’s mostly up to you. But if you want my advice, I’ll tell you the same sort of thing I told Keith when he was a kid.”

Shiro’s dark eyes turned to him, pinching at the corners as he forced a smile. “Seems to me that, when everything’s burned down, there’s no better time to start over.”

Start over? _Start over?_

Lance dug his fingernails into his palms. 

This was worse than Microsoft Word crashing and losing an entire report. This was worse than moving from Long Beach to Peach Springs. At least in the past all his losses gave him a place to start, no matter how devastating they’d been. He’d already written the paper so the knowledge was in his head and when he moved here he had the shop and his grandmother. Now?

What was he supposed to do, sweep up the ashes and put on a brave face? 

He couldn’t even see Shiro in front of him anymore. Down, down into his head, into the past, into every tiny decision that led him here to the front stoop of a burned dream. 

_Thunk. Thunk._ _Thunk_.

The dull pounding of his fists into his thighs was the only thing he could feel.

“Hey.” From somewhere above water, Shiro’s voice echoed as a weight landed on his shoulder. “You alright?”

It was like a jolt through his whole body. The hair on the back of his neck stood up and he immediately curled into himself as he jumped away. There was a faint pain in his wrist but he wasn’t sure why. He’d forgotten he was even standing on the street by his shop.

Slowly, piece by piece, the world fell back in place. First the buzzing of his body, then the harsh sunlight and the cool breeze. Then, fragment by fragment, buildings, the street, the sidewalk under his sneakers, and finally, Shiro’s resigned face as he retracted the arm Lance had just slapped away.

"Sorry, I just-" Lance shook his head. It was impossible to explain _what_ he was doing. 

“It’s okay,” Shiro said, and it sounded like he meant it. “It’s going to take a while. I can take you to the attorney’s office myself whenever you’re ready, if you want. It just has to be within the week.”

“No, it's okay. I can go.” Now that he was back in his body, it was too heavy to stand straight. He leaned on a leg as he stared at the ground near Shiro’s feet. A red splatter?

“Alright. Well listen, I’m not gonna hover around you. You’ve got the report and my number. I’ll let you be and you can call if you need anything.” Shiro raised a hand again, paused, and lowered his arm back to his side. “For the record, though, there’s a lotta people here who’d be real happy to see this place up and running again. It’s become a pretty permanent fixture in Peach Springs.” 

“Yeah, well, they’re not the ones that have to pay for it.” Lance broke his eyes away from the strange red smudge and glared at Shiro. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected Shiro to do. Fix everything maybe? Like the way his Abuela would fix his scraped knees with a band-aid. Instead, Shiro offered nothing but more paperwork. 

Adults, he was discovering a little too quickly for his liking, were useless when it came to real issues and not just bumps and bruises.

As soon as Shiro’s car was out of sight, Lance stepped over the shattered glass and under the yellow caution tape. It was unsafe to be in there, but he needed to be. Had to at least say goodbye. 

The walls were thick with soot and debris crunched under his sneakers. Gone was the scent of green plants and fragrant blossoms. Instead, everything smelled like smoke. 

Above him, the sun shone through the burnt holes, wires with melted plastic dangling through them. The checkerboard of particle board slats was only a metal skeleton. The combination left a shadow of bars across the floor. Ash followed his steps, puffing out as his toes scraped through the oily black detritus and piles of charred wood. 

Basically...it was a fucking mess. 

Tears pricked the back of his eyes and he swallowed them down. There was no need to cry again. All it did was give him a headache anyway.

The shadowy bars across his skin felt heavy as he passed the melted glass of his aquarium. At least he’d never gotten a real fish for display. Lance ran a hand across the charred wood, black collecting on his fingertips. 

It really was gone.

He felt like throwing up.

Almost by habit, he turned to lay on the counter, only to remember there was no counter anymore. 

No more sitting on it to swing his legs as he chatted with Keith. No more hiding Keith’s junk food, or playing tag between the shelves, or sitting in the backroom to have tea with Kay. 

It was like losing the shop had snapped every tentative connection he’d made in this tiny town.

What even was holding him here anymore?

What was stopping him from taking the insurance money and going to university? That was the entire point, right? Save the shop and earn his college fund back. Well, he did that - in a very roundabout way, but still, he did. Technically, it was his money to rebuild how he wanted, and maybe he wanted to rebuild with a business degree.

 _But Keith,_ his mind argued and he pushed it down. Keith would understand. Sure he was jumpy about people leaving him, but Lance wasn’t leaving. He’d just be...bettering himself before he came back.

_Yeah._

Lance would talk to him about it. Well, as soon as he broke the text silence.

It was only when he’d wandered back towards the front that he noticed something peculiar. Most of the front window was nothing but shards and shattered dust mixing with the soot on the ground, but laying half-buried under a few broken pots was the corner of his display sign, still mostly intact. It somehow, in a way that made him nearly sick, still retained some of his swirly chalk writing discussing the week’s sale on succulents. Across those words, though, was a sweep of gritty-looking red he didn’t recall. 

Lance ran his hand across it and the chalk dusted away under his palm but the red refused to budge. It didn’t make sense. Why were there all these random red streaks?

Carefully, he ducked back across the caution tape and squatted down next to the half-burnt red line he’d seen before. 

It was the same. Splattered and jagged lines covered in soot, but still very much out of place. 

His phone buzzed in his back pocket, but it was a far-away disturbance. He was too focused on running his thumb over the tacky red, like an out of place mist on his otherwise black board. It sort of looked like…

Another buzz.

Lance sighed. He swore if it was the insurance company again-

 **Haystack (9:34 am):** Look I’ll leave you alone if that’s what you want, but you have to tell me so. You have to say it plain. I want to be there for you and you shouldn’t be doing this on your own

He could feel Keith’s eyes on the back of his neck even if Keith wasn’t actually there. Just knowing he was squatting in view of the tattoo parlor made his skin itch. Lance sunk deeper, curling over his phone. He deleted his previous reply and typed out a new one.

 **(9:36 am):** Doing what on my own?

 **Haystack (9:36 am):** Dealing with it all

 **Haystack (9:36 am):** And thanks

 **Haystack (9:37 am):** For writing me back

Oh. Lance hadn’t even realized he’d broken the silence. It was more out of curiosity and habit that he’d replied at all. Part of him wanted to talk to Keith, to let someone else hold him up for even a second. But the rest of him couldn’t…Just. _Couldn’t_. 

Everything, even texting, felt like insurmountable tasks. 

**(9:40 am):** I’m not ignoring you

Even as he typed it, it looked like a lie. It wasn’t, but it looked it.

 **Haystack (9:41 am):** Then just tell me to fuck off and mind my own business because I’m going crazy wondering what the hell you’re doing and how you are 

Lance stared at the message from his little burnt corner on the sidewalk. He hadn’t moved even a muscle since looking at his phone and his knees ached to stand. The phone blurred. He’d been on the edge of crying since he’d arrived, and now he couldn’t stop them.

Fat tears fell on his screen as it turned dark, Keith’s words fading into the selfie of them at the garden behind Eileen’s. 

Keith was right. Lance was horrible. Why couldn’t he just unlock his phone and move his thumbs? Why couldn’t he just get the fuck up and walk across the street? Keith was there; Lance knew he was.

All he had to do was stand up, turn around, and walk across the street. That’s it.

That was all.

But that last message had sapped all his strength. 

As if the text itself had stolen every last bit of his ability to hold himself together enough to stay functional.

Tears blinding him, Lance stood, numb and ashamed. Keith was mad at him and he had every right to be.

Stuffing his phone in his pocket, Lance left Main Street without looking back. He shook with every step as his legs threatened to give out from underneath him.

He’d lost everything and now he was going to lose Keith because he couldn’t send a fucking text.

Lance didn’t care who saw him as he sobbed. He didn’t care about anything anymore, not really. It was easier to hide inside himself and go numb than it was to face reality.

His pocket buzzed again, but Lance ignored it. 

~🌸~

The green plants mocked him when he walked through his apartment door. Every houseplant was perfectly unburnt and thriving, unlike his shop. 

How unfair.

He hadn’t checked his text messages still. As soon as he’d gotten home, he’d thrown his phone on his bed and went straight to his couch to mope. His fingers itched to scroll or text but he ignored it, trying to satisfy them with pressing Switch buttons instead. 

Killing a few pixels was better than thinking about all the million other very pressing things he had to do. If he’d taken Shiro up on his offer, at least he would’ve been forced to do it. Now, it was just one more thing on his pile of shit that he was ignoring.

A slight _clack_ sound interrupted his thoughts. He held still, the game music filling the room, but it didn’t repeat. Probably the fridge or air conditioner or something. Not worth getting up for.

Lance settled back down, mashing buttons as he worked his way through the level. It was mindless and easy, something his muscles could do without his brain.

A few seconds later, it happened again - this time in rapid succession. _Clack click clack_ coming from the left side of his apartment, over by the living room window. Then again, and again after that - louder and harder each time. 

“What the fuck?” he asked his plants. Most of them drooped with the need for water, but didn’t answer.

Irritated, Lance hauled himself off the couch, intending to shoo away whatever woodpecker or other mythological Southern beast was making the obnoxious sounds. He lifted the window, already opening his mouth to shout, but was interrupted by a sharp little prick of pain against his forehead. 

“Shit,” said the tree slightly below his window ledge. “Sorry ‘bout that.”

“Keith?” he asked the foliage. His second time tonight talking to plant life. It was almost like a normal day.

Keith pushed aside a leafy branch, trying and failing to bat the leaves from his hair without losing his balance. “Yeah. Uh. Hey.”

“What are you doing in my tree?” The sun was fading and his neighbors were out walking their dogs below them. Far below them. This was the third floor after all. “Well, not my tree, I don’t own it. It’s the apartment’s tree. I don’t even own this apartment. I don’t really own anything at all anymore.” 

Okay, maybe that wasn’t so funny. Well, there went his attempt at humor. 

“Yeah, well. That’s what I’m doing in your tree.” Keith glanced down at the last few pebbles in his glove and let them fall. They clattered through the web of branches until they disappeared somewhere below. Only then did he look back up, disheveled and with an unusual sheen to his eyes. “Can I come in? Please?”

“Only if you come through the door and not the window. How did you even get up there?”

“Uh.” Keith looked back down. “That dumpster, to that lady’s balcony, to that gutter, to - you know what, nevermind. I’ll be there in a second.” Without waiting for Lance to reply, he disappeared into the foliage and began a rustling descent. 

He very well may have sprinted, because in a much shorter time than Lance had anticipated, there was a knock at his front door. 

It was one thing to agree to a boy in a tree throwing rocks at his window, it was another to answer the door. Lance wiped his palms on his pajama pants and took a deep breath.

Just as another knock came, Lance opened the door. “Hey.”

Keith lowered his fist, blinking at Lance before shifting awkwardly, trying to find somewhere to put his hands. He settled for crossing them across his chest, his normally pristine white t-shirt now stained with green in places and his hair a complete birds’ nest - almost literally, from the look of the thin twigs and few leaves still caught in his braid. 

“Hey.”

“When did you quit tattooing to become a squirrel?” And so what if he was deflecting? Maybe he didn’t want to break down for the umpteenth time that day.

But Keith wasn’t having it. He snapped his eyes back to Lance, dark and intense in their sudden closeness. “Can we talk?”

Lance sighed and opened the door wider. “Yeah, I guess we should.” He’d hoped that they could just ignore everything and go back to the way they were as if Lance’s whole life hadn’t collapsed around him. But apparently, life wasn’t that kind.

Keith didn’t say anything in reply - just stepped past Lance into his apartment and waited for him to close the door. As soon as he had, he turned to find Keith with his hands outstretched, like he’d been about to pull Lance to him. At the last second, he let his arms drop.

“Listen,” he began, “I get that you need space and have to handle this your own way, but I wasn’t kidding. I’ve been going insane, wearing a hole in my rug from pacing, just wondering if you’re alright. I _had_ to see you.”

God, he really was an asshole. Lance couldn’t blame himself too much; even now, he had no energy for this talk and he definitely wasn’t about to fetch his phone. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, because he was. If nothing else, he was sorry that he didn’t have the energy to comfort someone else. “I should’ve at least texted you.” They were still standing in the entrance next to his shoes and his keys, but he had no idea how to get them to the couch.

“Lance.”

Keith’s voice knocked him out of his head and stopped his fingers from winding around themselves. He hadn’t even realized he’d been doing it. If Lance was being honest with himself, he wasn’t noticing much at all lately. “Hm?” 

Keith shifted, looking hesitant, then resolute. He held his arms up again. “I’d like to hold you, but only if you want it. Tell me if you don’t, don’t just let me do it because you feel bad.”

Lance looked between Keith and his open arms and back up, then snorted. “Why are you always so formal? The most gentle, formal punk I’ve ever met.” Before Keith’s face could sour, Lance fell into his arms and wrapped Keith up in his own.

Immediately, Keith buried his nose into Lance’s hair and crushed him close, breathing him in and letting it out on a shaky sigh. “...Missed you, Flower Boy.”

The familiar feel of Keith’s arms and the smell of his soap made the sting of his words a little less potent. “Not anymore, I guess. You’ll have to find a new nickname for me. Maybe go back to Long Beach, yeah?”

Keith sighed against the shell of his ear, ruffling the hair there. “You’re still the boy who put flowers in my keyhole instead of just talking to me. Made me a circle hat out of flowers picked just for me. I think it still counts.”

“I guess so.” Lance fiddled with a loose thread on Keith’s shoulder. “So since you didn’t yell at me before the hug, are you going to yell at me after?”

Keith’s nose scrunched up. “Why would I yell at you? Not like I’m real great at letting people in when I’ve got shit on my mind. And anyway, I’m the one that forced you. I just...couldn’t get your face out of my head. You looked…”

He shook his head and tucked Lance into his neck. “I just had a lot of time to remember it and told myself that as soon as I got the chance, I’d tell you: I’ll do anything to make sure you never look like that again.” 

“You can’t promise something like that, Haystack. You can’t control the universe.”

“Yeah, well, I can do my damndest.” 

At the very least, that sent warmth through Lance’s heart and he almost smiled. He pulled away enough to look Keith in the eyes. “I’m glad you came. Sometimes I forget the people in my phone are real.”

Keith’s hands came up to frame Lance’s face, broad and rough at the tips. He brushed his thumbs over Lance’s cheekbones and gave him a small, sad smile. “It’s alright. I just...want to do something. I want to be there. Here. Wherever, just, with you, I mean. Where you -” The smile melted into a disgusted pout. “Ugh, you know what’m saying.”

Lance searched Keith's dark eyes. "I think so. And, thank you, for not, like, giving up on me." 

For once, Keith didn’t wait or ask permission. There wasn’t much distance between them to begin with, but it still felt like he took forever to pull Lance in for a kiss, like he was waiting to be rejected. As soon as their lips brushed, Keith made a low, strangled sound, and fit them together completely. One hand stayed cradling Lance’s cheek, but the other snuck around, as it often did, under the hem of Lance’s shirt to splay across his lower back. 

It was all at once both a familiar comfort and an exhilarating thrill. Lance had been so low that the rush of endorphins made him giddy. He chuckled against Keith’s lips and wrapped his arms around Keith’s neck. For every bit as slow as Keith had been, Lance was twice as passionate in his answer. 

Keith’s mouth was an escape, but more than that, it felt like home. Keith was everything he needed in that exact moment.

At some point, he realized Keith had backed them against the arm of the couch when it hit the back of his knees. Keith didn’t stop, but took the opportunity to crowd a little closer, kiss him a little deeper. It was a far cry from the shy hesitancy of their time in the field. Keith’s hands wandered everywhere, restless and desperate, and when they finally broke apart, he let his forehead rest against Lance’s as they drank in the same air. 

“Missed you,” he rasped, his voice husky.

Lance panted, trying to catch his heart before it escaped through his chest. “I see that.” He couldn’t hold Keith’s intense gaze, so he opted to stare at the grass stain on the white of his shirt. “I hope, though, you didn’t just come for sex? I’m not really…” 

God, how did he even turn someone down? 

Lance winced, bracing himself for whatever Keith would say.

“Lance.” The tone of that one word was as heartbreaking as the look on Keith’s face when he said it. “Don’t you think you know me a little better than that by now?”

“I just wanted to make sure.” He relaxed a little, using Keith to support himself. “You’re very _passionate_ when you want to be.”

“Sorry - sorry, I just.” Keith leaned back, as if to give him more breathing room. “Got, um. Carried away. That wasn’t - I didn’t intend for that to happen.”

Lance bit back a smile. It was weak and fragile but it was the most he’d smiled since _the incident._ “Keeping that in mind, would you like to stay the night?”

Keith blinked twice as he processed that. “I really did just mean to come check on you. I don’t want to crowd you. But um...do you... _want_ me to stay?” 

“Mm-hm,” Lance hummed and blinked up at Keith through his lashes. He tightened his arms just enough around Keith’s neck to make his shirt tug up that much higher. “Plus, don’t you think I missed you, too?”

“I’d hoped, but wasn’t sure.” Smile crooked, Keith ran a hand through the loose pieces of his hair, frowning when it came away with a few pine needles. “The fuck is all this…”

“That?” Lance asked, pulling a twig from his braid and unraveling part of it. “It’s your squirrel stash.”

“I didn’t exactly think the whole window thing through before I started climbing.”

Lance kissed his nose. “Why don’t you take a shower and wash off the tree. In the meantime I can make us dinner? That is, if you’re really staying.”

Keith’s thick eyebrows raised in mock surprise. “You’d let some dirty, sap-covered biker into your nice, pretty shower? Why, I dunno what to say.”

"Shut up and get in there so I can daydream about you naked in my shower." Lance whacked his shoulder with the back of his hand. 

“Can do.” 

Keith backed up a couple of steps, like turning too early might cost him a few more minutes’ worth of smiling at Lance. Then he retreated down the hall and shut the door to the bathroom with a quiet click. Shortly after, the hiss of the shower filled the apartment. 

Lance smiled to himself. It was homey in a way that he didn't want to think about. 

More importantly, he hadn't completely fucked up with Keith. Even if their future together was shaky at best. 

Pulling down the big pot, he filled it with water for spaghetti. 

Then frowned at it.

Okay, if this was going to become a thing? If they were even going to _begin_ to entertain the idea of a future together? Both of them would need to level up their cooking skills. 

~🌸~

Lance woke up to his phone buzzing under his pillow. 

Something pressed down on him, preventing him from moving. The something groaned and Lance opened his eyes. 

Right. Keith had spent the night. 

Work! Lance was wide awake at the thought before he remembered it was Sunday. The one day the whole street shut down. 

His phone buzzed again and Keith grumbled morning breath into his face. It was disgustingly endearing. 

Lance tried to wiggle away but Keith only latched on harder. 

"Hey, sleepy head. You gonna let me go?" 

“Hell naw,” sleepy-Keith mumbled, itching his nose against Lance’s shoulder and lacing their fingers together. His eyes never opened. “All m’n.”

The sleepy drawl went straight through Lance’s heart. He ignored his phone to bury himself deeper into Keith’s arms. “G’morning to you, too,” he whispered into the skin of Keith's neck. They were both only in their shirts and underwear and it was very tempting to rid Keith of both.

Keith hummed, pleased and rumbly and nowhere near conscious. “G’back t’sleep, darlin, still early.” He draped a leg over Lance’s. 

Morning wood pressed against his leg, but Lance didn’t mind. He ignored it and tangled their legs together. Just because they weren’t going to have sex didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy his boyfriend, though. An impish smile on his face, Lance slipped his fingers under the wrinkled shirt.

He jolted when his phone buzzed again. “Ugh,” Lance groaned, hands stopping their exploration.

Finally, Keith’s eyes fluttered open and he propped himself up on one elbow. Grumpy and sluggish, he rubbed at his eyes. 

“Who th’fuck is callin’ at this unholy fuckin’ hour?”

“I don’t know. I thought it was my alarm, but it's Sunday…” Lance sat upright and scrambled for his phone. “Keith, what day is it?”

Keith, however, flopped back down and pulled a pillow over his face. “Sunday.”

 _Shit._ Lance was in so much trouble. 

"Hunk!" Lance yelled into the receiver as he answered the phone. "I'm so sorry dude, I overslept." He tucked the phone into his shoulder and fished for something to wear. 

“And here I thought you loved me,” Hunk’s voice, though buffered by airport white noise, was still warm and playful. “No worries though, we’re starving anyway, so we’ll grab lunch and hang out. Can’t be that long.”

“Nah, it’ll only take me a few minutes to get there.” He found his shorts from yesterday and held them up in triumph. 

“Cool. Want me to grab you anything? Not a lotta options, but.”

“Nah, man. I’ll bring some snacks, too. The airport food is shit.” Lance switched to speaker mode and threw the phone on the bed so he could find a shirt. “I made your lemon cookies the other day, so.”

“Sweet. We’ll hang near the front so call when you’re pulling up.”

“Will do. See ya in a bit, Hunk.”

Lance hung up at Hunk’s goodbye and stuffed his phone in his pocket. Keith was snoring under his pillow and all of a sudden, he realized he’d have to wait for Keith to get up, get dressed and get out before he could leave. 

“Hey, Keith. I gotta go. Wake up, man.” 

“Mmn.” This time, at least, Keith sat up without much of a fight. He cracked his neck and blinked the last sleep from his eyes. “Where’r’we going?”

 _Hurry, hurry, hurry,_ Lance’s mind screamed at him.

“I gotta pick up Hunk and Pidge from the airport.” Lance sighed and started collecting Keith’s clothes for him. He was so _slow._ “Which means I gotta lock you in or kick you out.”

“Oh. Right.” 

Keith rolled out of bed, shucking on the jeans Lance tossed at his chest and trying to button them one handed as he caught the shirt that followed. “What time’s their flight?”

“Now, they’re here. Which means I gotta be there.” Lance inched towards the door. “I’m already late.”

“Alright, I’m going.” Keith slung his shirt over his shoulder and followed Lance to the living room. He snatched his jacket from the back of the couch and grabbed his keys from the coffee table. Lance already had the front door open and was waiting in the second it took him to slide into his shoes. “Guess you’re gonna be pretty booked the next couple of days, but -“ The word broke off on a short yawn - “call me if you get a chance.”

“Yeah.” Lance practically pulled Keith out of the house and locked the door. “You didn’t forget anything, did you?” 

“If I did, it’s an excuse to come see you.”

Fuck he was so late, but his friends would understand if he just took a moment to - Lance pulled Keith close by his belt loops and kissed him, bad breath and all.

He could feel Keith chase after him as he pulled away, even just by a quarter of an inch, but he settled back and gave Lance a dazed little smile. “Be careful, alright? Lotta backroads getting to the highway. Watch for deer.”

“Don’t worry, I got Google to guide me.” Lance backed up as he spoke to save time. “I’ll talk to ya later?”

“Have a good time with them. I lov-uhh...I’ll look forward to it. Take care now.”

Lance grinned. “I will! But I super gotta go.” He blew a kiss and took a couple of steps down the stairs before calling over his shoulder, “Love ya!” 

Keith didn’t say anything back, but Lance was too busy focusing on getting to his grandma’s car and typing in the address. 

“An hour?!” he scoffed at his phone. Holy shit, he knew the airport wasn’t that close but an hour away? That was ridiculous. He’d need to drive faster.

Lance slammed the door and threw his phone on the console. Hunk was going to be so mad.

~🌸~

So Keith hadn’t been kidding, but he’d failed to specify that “backroad” was a generous term. The road that led to the interstate wasn’t even a road in some spots - just a stretch of gravel through trees, and at one point, Lance had to take his life in his hands by driving over the narrowest, rustiest, most fragile-looking bridge ever constructed. Eventually, the murder woods thinned and gave way to an actual honest to God road with yellow lines and everything, and the last of Ewell County melted away into cornfields and wide blue skies. 

Hopping on the highway was another matter. As soon as he pulled on, it was like another world. There seemed to be one car per every single cornstalk he’d passed, and it had been so long that he’d almost forgotten what gridlock was like. 

Altogether, it wasn’t “a few minutes” like he’d said. It took Lance well over an hour to pull up to the airport terminal - closer to two after traffic. 

As soon as he got there, relief and tension were replaced by guilt. He slammed the door in front of a very bored Hunk and Pidge. “I’m _so_ sorry. I forgot that traffic existed. Holy shit.”

Pidge scoffed. “There’s traffic here? I thought it was just mud and hay and horse-drawn carts or whatever.” 

Meanwhile, Hunk was lifting him off the ground with the force of his hug, squeezing until his back cracked. “There,” he grinned. “That’s for abandoning us to this fried-food-only circle of hell.” 

Of all the things Lance missed about California, Hunk's hugs were up there at the top. "I missed you, buddy." He snuggled in deeper. 

“Naaw,” Hunk cooed. “Missed you, too. Big time!”

"C'mon, let's get to my place and I can start showing you around." 

"Oh, man. I've been dying to get my hands on those lemon cookies." 

Lance froze. "Oh shit, man. I forgot." 

“Just like old times, then.” Hunk slapped him on the back and Lance coughed. Hunk hugs? Yes. Hunk friendly back-smashes with anvil hands? Nope, didn’t miss that at all.

The drive home went like lightning. They blasted Pidge's music and made fun of the tiny roads, yelped over the rickety one-way bridge, and reminisced about old times. It was familiar and easy in a way talking to people here had never become. 

It was relaxing. 

It was home. 

"Here we are." 

“Damn.” Pidge adjusted her glasses to squint at his apartment building. “It looks like they took the Amityville Horror house and tacked on an extra floor so no one would know the difference. Do they not have, like, regular apartment buildings here? Is there a barn on the bottom floor?”

Lance chuckled and helped them with their bags. "You're telling me. I'm the one who's had to live here." 

“Sucks,” Pidge offered sympathetically. “At least your floor is furthest away from the smell of manure.”

"I wouldn't say that until you see it." 

Lance definitely wouldn’t compare his apartment to a farm. It smelled fresh, sure, with all the plants and everything. Plus he _liked_ the smell of soil. But as soon as they stepped through the doorway, Pidge wrinkled her nose.

“You weren’t kidding.”

“I am a plant guy,” Lance said with a self-conscious chuckle. Plants had never been Pidge’s _thing_ and she’d always poked fun of him for them but recent events made his personal collection a little more, well, personal. These were the survivors. Him and his house plants.

“Sorry you'll have to sleep here with them, only got one room.”

Pidge shrugged and let her backpack drop with a thud, then grinned. “It’s just like home. $2,500 a month and you can have a cardboard box all to yourself.”

“Yo - we need to make a grocery run,” Hunk called from the kitchen. “You are severely lacking in...pretty much everything, dude. How am I supposed to spoil you with my cooking if all you’ve got is a jar of pickles and some kale that looks like it died and is being haunted by its own ghost?”

"I did make the cookies though!" Lance put the bags in a corner by his ivy. "But I guess we do if we want more than cookies for dinner." He paused. "Actually do you wanna check out this cute diner? It's legit in a pharmacy; like CVS grew a Denny's." 

They both gave him puzzled, skeptical looks, but Hunk shrugged.

“Is it vegan?” 

“One thing always is.” He was about to add, _just for me_ , but that would be bragging. “Oh, and it has, like, the oldest fountain in the world or something.”

Pidge snorted derisively. “Uh, doubt that any fountain in Peach Springs is older than, like, Ancient Rome or whatever. But yeah, why not, show us the _sights,_ the _sounds_ , the high life.”

Lance grinned. So he wasn’t the only one that immediately thought of water fountains. That was a relief. “All the sights? Should only take a few minutes.”

Pidge snorted. It felt good to make her laugh at something besides himself.

~🌸~

Goolricks’ was busy and by busy, it meant that there were other people there. 

Lance held the door open for Hunk and Pidge. “Welcome to the pharmacy, where people eat food.”

“Wow, you...did not misrepresent this, like, at all.” Hunk blinked between the booths on the right, the racks of medicine in the back, and the shiny metal countertop on the left. “This is a CVS with food.”

"Yep!" Lance led the way to the counter with his two friends sticking close by as if a pill bottle was going to jump out at them. 

"Hey, Stella, I brought some friends!" he called to the back as he slipped into his favorite stool. 

“Just a minute, Hon!” came Stella’s voice, sing-songy and cheerful. “Help yourself to whatever snacks Sonny’s got in that basket behind the counter. He said he left somethin’ in there just for you.”

Lance snorted. "Oh no, not again." He hopped over the counter and found the basket immediately. Digging to the bottom, he found - yep. Lance discreetly shoved the little bag in his pocket. Seriously, Sonny needed to be more careful. 

“What even is happening?” Pidge wondered out loud.

Stella came from the back room carrying an impressive stack of clean soda glasses. Her bright lipstick was extra shiny and she had, as she’d described it to Lance once, “gussied up” for some reason. She had on thick fake eyelashes and some large plastic-looking costume jewelry. 

Her candy-apple smile was extra wide when she caught sight of Hunk and Pidge. 

“Well hey there!” she greeted, thunking the stack onto the counter with a loud clack. “Who’ve we got here?”

“Afternoon, Stell. These are my friends from Long Beach: Hunk and Pidge,” he said, pointing to each in turn. He set the basket down as he snatched a bag of vegan chips from inside. 

Stella stuck her hand out to Pidge, who gawked at her long, shiny red nails. “Glad to meetcha, honey. I’m Stella.”

“Uh, hey.” The handshake Pidge returned was as limp-fish as it could get. Stella didn’t seem to mind and turned to Hunk to repeat the gesture.

“What brings y’all down our way? Just visitin’? Ooh, let me make y’all a soda, on the house. Pick yer poison.” 

They both turned to Lance in unison, looking for a translation. 

Lance pointed a thumb at the soda fountain behind him. “The oldest fountain in the world, like I told you.”

“Well, at least in the US,” Stella corrected, and slid them one of the old laminated menus, curling at the corner from use. “Here, take a look at your options while I grab the other stack. Lance, sugar, help them out.”

She disappeared into the back once more and Hunk gave a low whistle. “Damn, man. I thought for sure you were just playing some of this Southern stuff up, but uh. That definitely just happened. I think.” 

“Oh, it happened. Wait til you meet Sonny. He’s honestly the closest thing to home in this place.” Lance’s giggle came to a sudden halt when he locked eyes with Keith standing a few feet behind Hunk.

Keith was frozen, eyes wide, as if he’d been caught doing something terribly wrong. He glanced between Lance and Hunk, and started to mouth something when Pidge, in all her tactful Pidgeness, bluntly asked, “Yo, who’s this creep drilling holes in you with his eyes? Hey, buddy! You got a problem?” 

Lance snorted. Oh God, it was like watching himself from the past. Was he really this horrible? “No, Pidge, that’s-”

Hunk stood up, all 6 foot, 375 pounds of him, to create a wall between him and Keith.

“Uh, actually,” Keith started, “I’m-”

“Keith!”

Stella’s voice had them all turning, loud as she was. She was juggling another stack of cups that extended at least a foot above her height. She peeked around them and smiled at the door. 

“There you are, sugar, just in time. The truck’s out the back. Take care of that while I feed your man and his entourage, then I’ll feed you, too, before I go.”

Keith glanced at Lance, looking lost and a little panicked in this particular social situation. 

Guilt twisted in his gut. It was like Keith had somehow caught him cheating but he was only with his friends. He was _allowed_ to be with his friends. “We’ll wait and then I’ll introduce you, okay?”

“Okay.” Keith gave him a strange, uncomfortable smile, then nodded to Hunk and side-stepped him, disappearing into the back.

“Who is Keith?” Pidge asked to no one in particular.

“Alright, then!” Stella slapped her hand over the menu in front of Lance. “What can I get y’all? Same as Lance? Local favorite?”

Lance grinned, relaxing back into entertaining his friends. “Vegan special. We are, after all, your worst nightmare, Stell.”

She shook her head. “Don’t I know it. Have it your way, then. Give me these useless ol’ menus, and I’ll get you your special lunch pla- _oh!_ That reminds me, you gotta try the fruit salad I made. I’ll put some on your plate. Don’t you lie to me, now; Blue ribbon’s on the line next week. I’m gonna knock Farmer on his big old behind if it’s the last thing I do.”

Stella had essentially talked her way back into the back room, leaving Lance alone with two increasingly perplexed friends. 

Hunk watched Stella’s outrageously steep heels as she closed the door into the kitchen. “I don’t even know where I am right now.”

“A pharmacy that sells food.” Lance slipped back into his stool between his two friends. “What were you expecting, exactly?”

Lance talked quietly with his friends, secretly enjoying this strange leg up he had on them. He was some kind of Peach Springs expert now and it really wasn’t anything he wanted to brag about. But in front of his friends, it felt nice to watch them flounder. 

Especially when Stella returned with their food. 

“Alright then, three Fuentes Junior sandwiches - that’s what I named them, you like it?” Stella asked Lance in an aside as she slid three plates off a tray, each containing a copy of the sandwich Lance had ordered at least once a week since the first time Keith had brought him to Goolrick’s. This was followed by three cherry ice cream sodas, and -

“And _this,”_ Stella proclaimed, “is from my own garden! Well, the lettuce and the cherries. And I used some kinda coconut cream something instead of mayo for you, honey, and I tell you what, I think it’s even better than the original!”

Okay. So maybe Lance was starting to get a little too big for his britches (oh god, when had he started saying that unironically?) because the South had just thrown him a curveball. He didn’t need to look at his friends to know that he wore the same expression. All three of them stared at what could only be described as a fruit sculpture in the shape of a dick. 

There was white stuff dribbling down the side of a banana that was stuffed into rings of pineapple and topped with a red, now very lewd looking, cherry. 

What.

Lance finally looked at Hunk and Pidge who were staring back at him in utter confusion.

“This is,” Lance started as he stared down the penis fruit, “ _wow_.”

Stella seemed more than pleased. “Candle salad, just like my grandmama made. Y’all enjoy. Holler if you need anything.”

Stella left. 

The fruit cock stayed.

There was continued silence. 

“It’s,” Hunk tried, “ _Uhh_...certainly…”

“A dick. It’s a dick, Hunk. I’ll just say it because we’re all thinking it.” Pidge pointed to the white cream oozing from the tip. “It’s a pecker. A schlong. A peepee. A wang, a willy, a meat stick, a nut cannon, a purple helmet warrior. Lance took us to CVS for lunch and we’ve been served Cock Salad.”

Pidge honestly had a point. 

“Um. I really don’t have an explanation.” 

Hunk picked up the avocado toast and sniffed it. “At least the avocado is fresh.” He tentatively licked at it and cringed. “But this is way too much salt.”

“Really?” Lance took a bite of it, ignoring the fruit wang next to his plate. “Tastes fine to me,” he said around his mouthful.

Hunk placed a dramatic hand over his heart. “Oh no, buddy, they’ve butchered your palate. Next thing you know, you’ll be eating fried food.”

“It’s too late for me, Hunk. I’ve already eaten so much fried food. Veggies to be exact. Tomatoes to be exact- _er_.”

Hunk wrinkled his nose. “How do you even fry a tomato? It would just be a soggy mess.”

Lance nodded as he took another bite and took his time chewing. “It’s a funny story actually. Did you know fried green tomatoes are a real food and totally not poison? Because I sure as hell didn’t.”

Hunk didn’t reply immediately, despite expecting Hunk to belch at the sound of fried tomatoes again. Lance was clued into Keith’s presence from the way Hunk’s gaze dragged up and behind him, brow furrowed. 

"Hey," Lance said as he turned. This thin string of awkwardness between them wound tighter around his lungs. Controlling his breath through the tapping of his fingers, he took a deep breath that ended in a sigh. 

Keith smiled, shrugging his shoulders to his ears. “Hey, yourself. How’s lunch?”

“Over, but we can hang out while you eat.” He turned to his friends. “Isn’t that right?”

Pidge wasn’t looking at him and Hunk just shrugged. 

“Nah, it’s okay. Wouldn’t want to intrude, and Stella’s putting me to work for another couple hours while she goes on her date.” At the awkward beat of silence that followed, Keith extended a hand. “I’m Keith.”

Hunk slapped his palm lightly and gave him a little fist bump. Keith was obviously not prepared for this, resulting in him sort of stabbing Hunk’s fist with his outstretched fingers. 

“Hey, man, good to meet you. I’m Hunk, Lance’s best friend and this is P-wait.” His eyes went round and wide. “ _Keith_ Keith? Knife Keith? Stabby bad boy banjos Keith?”

“Oh, uh.” Lance stood as the panic rose inside him. “Yeah, kinda. This is my boyfriend, Keith. Keith, um, this is Hunk, my best bro, and Pidge, my best gremlin.”

“What?” Pidge asked. “Since when?”

“You’ve always been a gremlin, Pidge, that’s not-”

Pidge shook her head. “No, I mean since when do you have a boyfriend?”

“It was in his Insta,” Hunk pointed out. “You know - that whole ‘moonlight and magnolias, southern love in the garden’ aesthetic thing he posted?”

“I didn’t bother to check, because he never updates it anymore with anything other than his stupid water plants.” Pidge’s expression was sulky, the set of her mouth stubborn and pursed. She glanced at Lance when he said, “He rarely updates us in general anymore.” 

Keith was squirming beside him. “... Maybe I should, ah, get back to the boxes,” he murmured, low and just for Lance to hear.

Lance grabbed his wrist, holding him in place and doing his best to smile. Pidge was being a right bastard and no one seemed to care. He was used to Hunk not speaking up but he’d thought at least Keith would at least stick up for him.

Fooled himself on that one.

“No, c’mon, Keith.” Lance finally faced Keith, doing his best impression of a puppy. Like a switch, he flipped his personality even as anger bubbled under his skin. “My friends just got here, don’t you want to get to know them?”

As predicted, Keith basically melted on the spot, frowning even as he laced their fingers together. “Yeah - yeah, of course I do.”

"Good. We're going grocery shopping after this, it'll be fun!" 

Keith raised a skeptical eyebrow, but at least it came with a small smile. “Yeah, that about sounds like the extent of the fun in Peach Springs.”

Lance elbowed him with a secret smile. 

~🌸~

It wasn’t the worst time, but it wasn’t really what the California crew likely would have deemed “fun” - at least, until Hunk discovered that the entire back half of the supermarket was set aside for selling local goods and produce. He’d spent nearly an hour there, praising the color and smell and whatever else that could be noticed about fruit from the outside, and by the time they’d left, he had the makings of about forty pies, a few vats of curry or stir fry, and a sizable collection of small mason jars full of preserves. 

“Oh man,” he said, though it was more of a happy sigh than anything as he popped another blueberry into his mouth. “I gotta give this place credit where it’s due - if there’s one thing they know how to do, it’s farm. Keith, tell the farmers their produce is sick.”

From Lance’s right in the passenger seat, Keith huffed - a sound that was either amused or annoyed, it was hard to tell. “The next time we get together for our Farmer’s Meeting, I’ll be sure to pass the compliment along,” he said dryly. 

“He just means it's good,” Lance attempted to translate.

Keith glanced at him and then back to the window. “I figured.”

The small opening that led to his secret ocean-river beach flew past them and Lance slammed on the breaks, sending everyone lurching forward. 

“Sorry, sorry. I missed it. Hold on.”

One very bad parallel parking job (where Hunk had to get out and help) later and they were all ready for their impromptu picnic. 

Lance slammed the door with his hip and took one of the grocery bags from the back. “You’re going to love this. It's like a little slice of home.”

Pidge peered into the dense green of the treeline. “On a hiking trail? I’m wearing flip-flops.”

“There’s a little footpath,” Keith offered. “Makes it easier. Just watch for thorny bushes. And poison oak. This time of day, there probably won’t be snakes.”

“There’s snakes?” Lance and Hunk asked at the same time.

“Not this time of day,” Keith corrected. Then paused. “Probably.” 

Lance shook his head and stepped bravely onto the footpath. “Well if there are, then maybe they’ll bite Pidge first.”

Pidge ran after him, slapping him the whole way as he tried to dodge roots and rocks. They left Keith and Hunk behind them as they broke through to Lance’s secret spot.

The late spring had stripped all the trees of their buds by then, so the whole of the little cove was nothing but dense, vibrant green. Several of the trees had vines or branches long enough to trail in the sluggishly moving river like fingers in a fountain. Every now and then, where the water was deeper, a fish would jump high enough to make a quiet splash. 

It was no less beautiful, but in a different way than when he’d first discovered it. Back then it had been a riot of blossoms and color. Now it felt more like the deep emerald stillness of a rainforest. 

“Taadaa!” He held out his hands to show it off just as Pidge jumped to whap him upside the head. “Ouch, dude. Not cool.”

“Well, you deserved it, leaving me to be snake food.” Pidge huffed, but she was smiling again. It broke a little of the tension that still lingered from lunch, at least. 

Pidge turned around to survey their location, humming thoughtfully. “It’s pretty,” was her assessment. “When do we get to the part that looks like home? I mean, it’s all like...creek and woods and stuff, right?”

"This is the part. See? It looks like a mini beach. There's even sand." 

A wave of building worry crashed over him. Taking them here, expecting them to feel for it the way he did? That might have been a mistake. 

Keith and Hunk caught up at that point, the latter crashing through the last of the greenery and gasping for air. 

“SO. MANY. TREES. Why are there so many trees?! Who needs this many trees?? WHERE IS THE SKY, LANCE?”

Lance pointed at a small patch of sky between the trees. "It's right there." 

While Hunk recovered from his arboreal crisis and Pidge went to investigate a small pool of tadpoles, Keith came up behind Lance and rested his chin briefly on his shoulder.

“I almost kissed you here, you know,” he whispered, hot against Lance’s ear. “Took me by surprise, too. I’d never wanted something so suddenly and so bad before in my life.”

 _Oh._

Oh, no. Lance’s stomach fluttered and heat rose up his cheeks. He remembered the moment vividly, could almost see them in the freezing water as Lance waited for that exact thing to happen. 

“I wanted you to,” he whispered back and leaned into Keith’s warmth. The shade was cold but the spots of sun shining down left warm patches on his skin. “You could have.”

Keith shook his head a little, which had him more or less nuzzling into Lance’s hair. “Are you joking? I couldn’t even move. I was terrified.”

Lance huffed a laugh and shrugged. He was about to reply when Pidge cut him off. 

“Oi, airhead. Are we gonna actually have a picnic by this muddy river, or keep playing Tom Sawyer or whatever?” She’d rolled her pants up to wade in the shallow water far enough to find a small pebble. It was smooth and perfect for skipping, just like the ones Lance and Keith had used to compete. 

Instead of letting it skitter across the water, Pidge opted to bounce it off Lance’s shoulder instead. When he glared at her, she grinned and shrugged. “We can’t surf, so we might as well eat.”

“Surf.” Keith snorted. “Of course.”

“Hey,” Lance yelled at Pidge, pointing his finger at her and then turned it to Keith. “And what is that supposed to mean?”

Keith raised his eyebrows innocently. “I just figure Californians are all probably surfing while I’m down here, busy farming.”

Lance rolled his eyes. Great, Keith was getting sassy. Just what he needed. “Let’s just eat by the muddy river already.”

Despite Pidge’s griping, they all settled into the sandy bank of the river and feasted on the local commodities. Most of it was fruit, since things like the pies and breads weren’t vegan, though Keith had bought some cornbread all to himself.

Apparently putting food in everyone’s mouths kept things cordial enough. It also helped that Pidge and Hunk slept the whole way home. They didn’t even wake when Lance dropped Keith off. At least, they’d been knocked out when Lance had said his goodbyes.

Overall, their first day together was a blast. Or at least not a failure. 

Lance had gotten his hopes a little too high after Hunk’s dinner though. They were all in their pajamas in Lance’s living room when Hunk did the thing.

It wasn’t a very subtle thing so it wasn’t hard to see. Basically, he leaned over into Pidge’s face and winked a few times until Pidge shoved him away with an ‘I know, I know.’

“What’s going on?” 

“Noooooothing,” Hunk sing-songed, poking around Pidge. “Just thought you might like an early birthday present from your two very best friends.”

“My birthday is still months away. Or, well a month?” He couldn’t figure out time on the best of days and recently hadn’t really been the best.

Pidge scoffed, trying hard not to smile as she dug around in her duffel bag and presented Lance with a long, thin package, horrifically wrapped. 

“Okay, before you give me shit for the wrapping job,” she said, giving him a pointed look, “I just want you to know it was the end of the birthday roll and also some pizza flyers or just straight-up toilet paper. So you don’t get ‘Happy Birthday’ but you _do_ get ‘Ppy Day,’ which is objectively funnier anyway.” 

And it was kinda cute. “What are you talking about, Pidge? This is one of the best wrapping jobs I’ve ever seen from you.”

She looked awfully triumphant when she jabbed Hunk’s side with her elbow. “Told you he’d like it that way.”

Hunk batted her away. “Yes, you’re very astute, good job, shut up so Lance can open it. I’m dying. I’ve _been_ dying since we got it.”

“What is it?” It was so thin and flimsy that Lance had no clue. “Don’t tell me this is some kind of corny gift where the present is the wrapping itself, because then I take back everything I said.”

Pidge fell against his shoulder, resting her head to watch him open. “I mean, I’m a gift in and of myself, so.” 

Lance shoved her off. “You keep telling yourself that.” He tore it open. The shitty wrapping job also took some of the envelope that was inside with it. _LGB_ was printed in stark black under the torn hole. 

_What the-_

His fingers shook as he ripped it apart. There was no way. Why would his friends - Lance stared agape at a wholeass ticket back to Long Beach.

“It’s a ticket,” he said dumbly.

They were both grinning at him now. 

“To come home,” Hunk agreed, laying a hand on his knee. 

“But-” Home? Yeah, he guessed in all technicality Long Beach was home. Peach Springs was always temporary. 

Right?

That wasn’t something he was willing to touch right now in front of everyone.

Hunk nodded toward the envelope. “There’s something else in there, too.”

Lance fished behind the ticket and withdrew a folded, official-looking letter. He glanced at Hunk and Pidge’s matching grins, then back down. 

_Dear Mr. Fuentes,_ it began. _The College of the Coast is pleased to inform you that you have been accepted for the upcoming semester. The enrollment period begins -_

He flipped it over and over again. No, that was his name at the top, printed on official letterhead. “How?” He’d never applied. Especially since recently he’d been eyeing the business classes at Potomac River College just outside the town. 

Pidge adjusted her glasses with a grin. “I dug up your application packet and did it for you. Figured the worst that could happen was you turned it down, but now you’re totally free from this place.”

“Yeah, free. But the application fee, the ticket, wasn’t this expensive?” Lance looked at Pidge and then Hunk, caught between the obligation to be happy and the sinking rock in his stomach.

“Well, sure.” Hunk rubbed his neck. “But-”

“We’ve been saving since before you even left.”

Pidge’s voice cracked a little on the end of her interjection. Her head came back to rest against Lance’s shoulder, so that her words were extra soft, extra shaky, so close to his ear. “We never wanted you to leave in the first place, obviously. It’s not the same without you. We - I - ...miss you. Like. A _butt_ ton.”

Lance let out a shuddering breath and old tears he hadn’t even known he was suppressing stung his eyes. “But you don’t even text me.”

“You don’t text us!” Pidge pouted right back. “We send you pictures all the time, and radio silence!” 

Lance stared down at the ticket, crumpled between his fingers. It was true that he’d received pictures here and there and Pidge was _in_ them. But the pictures only made him feel left out so of course he hadn’t responded. 

How could he have? It would’ve just been bitter and come off needy. But there was no way he could tell _them_ that, especially since they bought him a plane ticket home.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled to the floor.

“...Me, too,” was Pidge’s equally muffled reply. 

“Okay!” Hunk clapped his hands to bring them out of their heads and back to the room. “Sad part over - happy part now! I’m gonna take over the kitchen and you two are gonna make the best pillow fort Peach Springs has ever or will ever see. Leave it something to remember us all by.”

He made his way to the little kitchenette, still brightly ranting. “And when you’re done, you’re gonna have a cake so amazing, Lance, so _delicious,_ that people in a hundred foot radius will convert to veganism. _Just you wait and see_.”

It’d been so long. So fucking long since Lance had had this. Of course he had Keith but he only really had Keith. There was no one else here that took care of him the way that Hunk and Pidge did.

Slipping the ticket back into the tattered envelope, he grinned at Pidge. “You grab the chairs and I’ll get the pillows.”

~🌸~

It was like they were in Middle School again - warm, clear nights spent on Pidge’s family’s roof, passing around the single beer they’d swiped while gossiping. Hunk was basically encyclopedic in his knowledge of their general circle’s comings and goings, and that alone occupied them for the better part of two hours. 

For the first time since he’d moved to Peach Springs, Lance remembered what it felt like to laugh until his gut ached. 

And then, in the tried and true pattern of all their sleepovers, the laughter gave way to the soft, intimate silence that happens between 1 and 3 in the morning. Hunk was on his back, half-dozing, while Pidge stretched between them with her head in Lance’s lap and her feet across Hunk’s stomach. The glow of her phone made her whole face look more angular, and not for the first time, it struck Lance how much could change in a short time. He remembered her cheeks still being round with baby fat. 

“So,” Pidge began, drawing out the ‘o.’ 

“So,” Lance repeated, drunk on nostalgia and familiarity. 

Pidge turned off her phone. “So...who’s Keith?”

“You’ve met him; that’s Keith. I don’t know what you’re trying to ask.” It was way too late for these kinds of complicated questions.

“Yeah, _but_.” Leaning her head back, Pidge gave him a pointed look. “He’s not your type, like, at all. Was he just the only option?”

“No,” Lance said a little too loudly and Hunk snorted. They both waited as Hunk settled back to his soft snoring and Lance tried again, quieter this time, “No; I mean kinda. There’s really not many options out here besides Keith but that’s not the point.” 

Lance sighed and slumped back against the foot of the couch. “He’s different.”

“Uh-huh.”

Pidge lifted her legs and twisted around so that she could sit up and look him in the eyes. “Not to be a dick, but you say that about everyone you date. I’ve just...never seen you look _that_ moony.”

“ _Moony_ ,” Lance scoffed. “Don’t give me that face. I’m telling you. There’s something different about Keith. You know one time he said he’d be able to pick me out from an entire crammed beach?” Lance smirked, pulling his legs into his chest to rest his chin on them. “I think I get what he meant. Everyone kinda disappears when he’s around.”

“Mm.” 

It was hard to read her expression between the dim light and her general Pidgeness, but her tone sounded skeptical. Eventually, she just sighed and removed her glasses, rubbing at one eye sleepily. 

“I just…” She murmured, softer than he was used to hearing. “Don’t want to see you go through that sad-sack stage again, y’know? It was hard enough the last time.”

“Pidge. There’s no reason for that to happen. Don’t worry, okay?” He kicked a blanket at her. “C’mon, let’s go to bed.”

“Why not?” She pressed. “Because he’s so ‘different?’”

"Yeah. I could prove it to you."

“Oh, yeah?”

Lance yawned and nodded. “Once you see his shop you’ll understand.”

“If you say so, I guess.” Lance’s yawn triggered one of Pidge’s own, and she flopped hard against Lance’s shoulder. “So how about we go see his shop tomorrow on our way to...whatever else you wanna do?”

“There’s a ghost tour.” He tucked the blanket at their feet around them both. “Keith has it memorized and I saw an actual ghost.”

“That’s not possible, because ghosts aren’t real. But it’s cute that you think so.” 

“You’ll see.” They’d both see. But in the morning; when it wasn’t so tired in here. Lance’s eyes drooped and he slumped onto Pidge. “G’ni’ gremlin.”

~🌸~

He didn’t remember texting Keith at 3 AM but there was the reply only a few minutes later agreeing for everyone to visit. Lance stared at it while Hunk made pancakes, trying to remember why he’d even asked. 

Under the text were detailed instructions on where to meet up with Keith, and when.

“Sure, babe,” was all he replied.

Keith was a lot of things, and Lance would be the first to acknowledge that not all of those things were apparent at first, but the one thing he was not, nor ever would be, was _subtle._

As soon as they arrived at the designated meetup spot, Keith had made a painfully obvious show of _acting natural_ when he’d insisted they come in the back way.

“To - to see the bike. _My_ bike,” he’d hedged. “And the, _um_. The river, you know? From...a new angle?”

The concerned, open furrow of his boyfriend’s brow was enough for Lance to humor him and play along when everyone present knew that Keith was only leading them through the alley to avoid seeing the charred remains of Lance’s shop across the road. 

Still. Cutting through the back alleys to get to Area 51 felt an awful lot like reliving the moment Lance and Keith had first met, though thankfully they were down by one knife, one thug, and one oversized pot of hydrangeas. 

Lance was honestly thankful to not have to see his shop. It was already on a loop inside his head and he didn’t need the reminder. 

As soon as they passed through the threshold of Area 51, the familiar smell of cheap coffee and ink hit him. It made his heart ache to think he wouldn’t get to smell that for a long time. 

Ever? 

Lance shook his head. No, not forever. Just until after university, and then he’d come back. 

Keith set his keys on the little tray by the back door and they clattered to the ground, barely missing Red. She hissed at him, fur puffing as she arched like a Halloween cat. Keith cursed, then, much softer, “Sorry, babygirl. Daddy’s dropping shit all over the place today, aren’t I?”

Lance hid his smile behind his hand. _Too cute_.

Standing again, with an only partially mollified Red in his arms, Keith gave them all a stilted smile.

“Well, uh, this is it. My shop.” He paused, then added, “Welcome.”

“Cool,” Pidge offered, and it sounded genuine. She was busy taking in the newspaper clippings and weird posters all over the walls with interest. 

Lance scooped the grumpy cat from Keith’s arms and she immediately started purring. “And this is Red, Keith’s boss. But she’s such a good boss, isn’t she?” Lance said the last part with a coo.

“ _Aaaww_.” Hunk immediately gave up any pretense of looking at the shop and instantly leaned over to coo into Red’s grumpy face. “Look at you! You’re way scarier than Keith, aren’t you? Do you have a switchblade too? Attack people in alleyways?”

It was clearly a joke, but one look at Keith’s face - half perplexed and half frowning - showed it hadn’t exactly landed. 

"I mean, you are my Knife-Keith," Lance said with a hopeful smile. 

The smile Keith returned didn’t give him much comfort.

Honestly, the tension between them aside, he really thought with how much he loved his friends and how much he, well, loved Keith, that they'd get along like peanut butter and jelly. 

"Pidge, all the rooms are named after those monsters, and he has a whole wall of art that way." 

She turned to look at Keith. “Cool if I go look?”

That seemed to spur him into action, at least a little. “Yeah - I mean, it’s not a big place, but look around all you want.”

“Cool.” She smiled back at Keith, and he hesitantly returned it. 

Meanwhile, Hunk had turned his attention to the clippings and paint on the walls as well, though he kept one hand scratching Red’s chin. “This is all your work, man?”

“Yeah.” There was a little note of pride in Keith’s voice as he surveyed his own shop along with Hunk. “I’ve always liked to draw, so it seemed like an easy transition. A couple of loans, some courses in business management and my license later - here she is.”

“It was worth it.” Lance pulled Red away from Hunk’s greedy fingers and set her on the floor. He brushed the cat hair off his crop top and one of Keith’s flannels that he’d left over one night. It didn’t really match but Lance didn’t care; it kept him warm in the air conditioning. “I should know; I have one.”

“What?” Hunk eyed him over. “Where? Since when? What’d you get? We were supposed to get matching ones, but then you chickened out after that drunk thing with Pidge! Now you’re holding out on me?”

“I’m not. It’s just that it’s on my back. Um, to cover up the thing with Pidge.” 

“Still!” Hunk pouted, big and bulldog-sad. From the other room, Pidge called, “That’s covering up our friendship, Lance! That’s a memory, right there. A rite of passage. You can’t hide from the memories!”

Keith snorted, a quiet, breathy sort of laugh. “Well, it’s mostly flowers, and they’re not totally colored yet. But if you’ve got a matching one, Pidge, I’m happy to do the same for you.”

“No way.” Pidge reemerged from the side hallway, arms crossed over her chest and looking sly. “I wasn’t stupid enough to go under the needle. I just goaded Lance until he couldn’t say no.”

“I was drunk. You took advantage of me.” Lance shrugged off Keith’s flannel and turned, pulling his shorts down enough to hopefully show the full piece without flashing his friends. “But now you can’t even tell.”

Pidge whistled. “Damn - you really can’t. That’s impressive, and a little sad. I hoped you’d be stuck with that mistake for the rest of your life.”

Within a few seconds, Keith was beside him. He reached out and ran his knuckle down the lower part of Lance’s spine, right to where the unfinished gardenia sat in the middle of his floral tidal wave. He gave it two soft taps.

“Almost done - just that one flower to go.” He took a few steps back - enough distance to catch Lance’s eye when he said, “Gotta admit - I’ve been hoping you’d ask for another. I know you’ll probably be relieved, but I’ll be sad when this one’s done.”

“Just admit you’re a masochist.” Lance settled his shorts back onto his hips and leaned in to whisper, “But maybe I’ve been thinking about it.”

Keith seemed to remember they weren’t the only ones in his shop and cleared his throat, taking a step towards the back. “Let me just feed Red and we can head uptown. Won’t be long.” He was out of sight in seconds, but Red took her lazy time following him, pausing for one more rub against Lance’s leg, then the check-in counter, the wall, and the water cooler all on her way out. 

“God, you’re so disgusting.” Pidge rolled her eyes and flopped back on the couch. 

Lance stuck out his tongue. “You’re just jealous.”

“Not even remotely.” She countered him with a raspberry. 

Hunk sighed as he sank into the couch beside Pidge. “I can’t believe you got a tattoo _without_ us. Best bros since kindergarten, and he gets one from the first random dude he meets.”

“Okay but to be fair, my first one was with Pidge and you’re terrified of needles. This is technically my second one.” Lance pulled on the hem of his flannel, stretching it until it bounced back to hit his thigh. 

“Still,” Hunk went on. “I can’t believe you let it get this bad, dude.”

Bad? Did he miss part of the conversation? “What?” Hopefully, Hunk would pick up the pieces his brain dropped.

As usual, he did. Hunk jerked a thumb in the direction Keith had gone. “Keith. Guy’s totally gone on you. Seems pretty unfair to him, y’know?” Hunk had tried to whisper but it was just as loud as his speaking voice.

Lance let go of the flannel and it snapped against his leg as he glanced to where Keith had disappeared to feed Red. “Why is that unfair?”

Pidge sat forward, linking her fingers as she always did when she began a lecture. “Because! It’s not like you _live_ live here! This was always going to be temporary, and now he’s going to get his little bad boy heartbroken.”

Okay, now he saw what was happening. He couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped. “Oh my God, Pidge. It’ll be fine. He really likes me, this isn’t like Jenny.”

“Okay…” Pidge trailed off dubiously. “So what? What does it matter if he likes you? You were always gonna dump him anyway, right? We’re just saying it should’ve been sooner, is all.”

Wait. “Dump him?”

“Well, yeah!” Pidge threw her arms up in the air. “You leave for Cali next Wednesday! What were you planning to do? Long distance until you convinced him to move or something? What’s it matter, anyway?”

Like puzzle pieces from two separate puzzles, the idea of leaving for California and being with Keith came together in jarring juxtaposition - similar shapes, but the colors were all wrong. They’d been so separate in his head as if doing one wouldn’t upset the other, that he hadn’t even realized-

Hunk sighed. “We just know you don’t like hurting people’s feelings is all. I mean, it’s not like you love the guy.”

From the back of the shop came a slam so loud the coffee pot and mugs next to them rattled. 

Lance whipped his head towards it, his reply caught in his throat. Hands shaking, he grabbed the hem of his shirt and gestured at his friends with it. “Hold on; stay here.”

Hunk and Pidge exchanged glances then looked at Lance in tandem.

“We’ll be out front, okay, buddy?” 

“Yeah,” Lance breathed out but all his focus was on getting to Keith. The slam of the door replayed in his mind on loop and with each crash Lance’s heart sunk into his stomach.

Stupid friends with their stupid mouths. Stupid, stupid, _stupid_.

Gravel crunched under his feet as he ran by Keith’s motorcycle, through the scruffy grass at the end of the lot, and onto the back side of Sofya street. Left and right yielded nothing, but he could see Keith’s white t-shirt against the trees that lined the side of the riverbank. 

It didn’t take long to catch up, but somehow he was out of breath.

“Keith,” he tried to yell but it came out as a whisper. Words clogged in his throat and choked him as he came to a stop. 

Keith didn’t turn around, but he did at least stop walking. He stood still, hands as deep in his pockets as they could go and shoulders hunched to his ears, coiled like an animal ready to bolt. 

Blood pulsed in Lance’s ears and sweat seeped into the flannel clutched in his fist. “Keith, I don’t know what you heard, but-”

“Yes, you do.”

Keith’s voice was flat, his accent rattling around the words in a way that sounded like dead leaves on pavement - not the warm, honeyed drawl Lance was used to. 

“Next Wednesday, huh? Guess I’m lucky I even got advanced notice.”

“I’m sorry.” Because what else could he say? Anything he said would sound like an excuse.

“I bet.” Keith spared him a swift glance over his shoulder. “Are we done here? You don’t need to figure out a speech or anything. We can make it quick. Consider me dumped.”

Lance could feel everything crumble through his fingers. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. This was all his shop’s fault; if it hadn't burnt down - no, this was Hunk and Pidge’s fault if they hadn’t opened their idiotic mouths - 

He sucked in a breath to push down all his emotions, tuck them away where they couldn’t hurt him.

“I don’t want that.”

“No?” 

Keith turned then, and Lance almost wished he hadn’t. His pretty indigo eyes had gone ice cold, narrowed with hurt and tempered rage. 

“So what, then? What was your plan? All that bullshit about wanting to stay, was that just to keep my attention? Keep me from running away until you were free to go? And I - _fuck,_ I _let you_ \- when this whole time…”

“Keith…” Lance took a step forward, arms open trying to calm him. 

Keith clawed a hand through his hair, gripping it at the roots and squeezing his eyes shut. “Jesus, this _whole fucking time._ And you know what? I _knew._ I knew I was temporary, and I went in anyway, and I still...I still hoped that maybe...maybe we’d... _fuck_!” He swore and started stalking towards the river once more.

“Keith!” Lance stumbled as he followed, trying to keep up as his vision blurred - not from tears but from panic. “I didn’t know. This wasn’t planned.” The grass was slick under his sneakers and Keith’s boots gave him an advantage with grip. “Would you listen to me!?”

“Why?” Keith whirled on him again, clearing the space between them in three long strides and crowding into Lance’s face. “Why, Lance? Give me one good goddamn reason I should believe anything you say right now.”

And that was all it took to break the poorly constructed dam of his emotions. 

Everything he’d shoved down: the shop burning, his Abuelita getting worse, his dreams dying, and now, finally, Keith leaving him. They burst like a tidal wave, drowning him. Sinking, falling into himself.

 _Cold, unfeeling,_ the voices in his head taunted him. _Weak._

All Lance could do was stare at Keith wide-eyed as tears fell hot down his cheeks. Weak. He was so weak. He hit his thighs; one, two, one, two. They were probably bruised now as he tried to find his body. 

It wasn’t fair. This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. It was so lonely standing under Keith’s cold stare when what he wanted to do was crumple into Keith’s arms and let the world melt away. Melt until there was no flower shop and no plane tickets and no choices. No crushing reality.

Lance shook his head, trying to ignore the fact that he was falling apart from the inside out. 

And Keith...hesitated.

The anger in his eyes flickered, pinched, gave way to something that looked a lot more like the Keith he’d come to know. He even started to reach a hand out.

Then his fingers curled and he pulled them back.

“Your friends are waiting on you,” he said, and this time there was no anger. There wasn’t much of anything at all. “Lock the door on your way out. You know where to leave the key.”

It sounded like a goodbye.

Just as Keith turned, Lance grabbed a fistful of his white shirt. He stared at the cotton in his hand, too scared to meet Keith’s eyes. He didn’t want to see the pain and disappointment. 

“Please. Two seconds, give me two-two seconds. _Please_.”

There was a thick, heavy pause. 

“...Two seconds.”

Lance took a deep, shuddering breath, but didn’t loosen his grip on Keith. If he let go it felt like he’d lose him forever. “I didn’t, I never planned to leave. I wasn’t hiding anything from you. I had decided to stay. I really did.” The words tumbled out of his mouth one after the other like they were racing to the finish line of his lips. “But then the shop burned down and they bought me a ticket. I didn’t ask them to, but they did. And they’ve been saving up since before I left, so I can’t say no, but it doesn’t mean forever. It can’t be.” 

In the meantime, Keith had been staring hard at the grass, biting at a raw spot on his lip until Lance could see it begin to bleed. 

“So how long?” Keith asked quietly. “Like a week? A month?”

There really was only one answer to that question but he knew neither of them were going to like it. “Graduation.”

“ _What?_ ” Keith pulled back and stared at him. “You never even mentioned wanting to go to school! So what, I’m - I’m just supposed to sit here and wait for you? For years? Hoping that one of us can occasionally afford to go visit the other? When the fuck were you going to tell me any of this?”

Lance finally met Keith's eyes trying to think of an excuse, any excuse. 

Since before he arrived, the plan was already university. He'd thought Keith understood. That was why he'd been working so hard to get his college fund back. 

"The-the shop-" Lance tried to explain but the look on Keith's face shut him up.

Keith sighed and pressed the heel of his palm between his eyes, squeezing them shut for a minute like he was trying to stave off a migraine. When he opened them, the anger had drained, replaced with nothing but a raw and visible ache. 

“Look, Lance. You got thrown into this whole thing. I know that. You didn’t even want to be here. But you gotta understand - I crawled my way out of a really dark place and worked my ass off to get where I am. My shop means a lot more to me than I think you really realize. I finally got what I wanted here - a place I can call my own. Thing is...I don’t think you even know what _you_ want. Not yet, at least.” 

That wasn’t fair. It was always like this, just because he couldn’t articulate the millions of thoughts buzzing around in his head, people always assumed that he wasn’t serious. But this time, there was no way he was letting it get in the way. He’d make Keith stand here forever until he understood.

“That’s not true,” he said, voice low and sharp, trying to cut through all the bullshit. “ _You_ , you idiot. More than anything, I want _you_ and I thought you knew that but apparently, I have to spell it out for you.” 

Lance let go of Keith’s shirt to poke him square in the chest. “Yeah, maybe this place wasn’t some kind of dream, and yeah, I didn’t work my ass off to get here. But did you ever think that maybe I want to work my ass off to get back to you? That I need a way to live here without the help of my family and to do that without the shop is going to take time?” His finger turned into a flat palm as he shoved Keith. “So, yes! I want you to wait, is that so bad?”

Keith caught his palm and yanked him back in, searching between his eyes urgently. “So rebuild the shop! I can help with rent and-and - hell, you can have my loft and I’ll sleep in the shop but I just...I _really-_ ” 

He broke off with a frustrated growl. 

“No. If you really don’t know what I want, let me prove it to you.” Keith’s grip loosened enough for Lance to reach up and cup his face. “I didn’t mean for this to happen now, but college was always in my plans. The only difference is now, so are you.” He ran his thumb over the peak of Keith's cheekbone. “Because, I love you, Keith Kogane.”

Immediately, Keith slammed his eyes shut, but not before Lance caught the watery shine of them. He made a half-strangled sort of sound, something between a gasp and a whimper, and trapped Lance’s hand against his face. 

For a few seconds, they didn’t move, the only sound between them the shuddery, deep breaths Keith drew in through his nose. Eventually, his shoulders slumped and he fell against Lance, hiding his face in Lance’s neck.

“...Me, too,” he murmured. “Goddammit, me, too.”

Lance held him as much as he was being held. In the bright sunlight of late morning as the river rushed below them, they held each other. 

He had no idea how much time had passed when they both shifted and Keith unburied himself from Lance’s neck. It didn’t matter. Time was as equally limited as it was infinite and Lance was greedy for Keith to fill every second. 

Gently and tentatively, Lance pulled Keith in until he could speak the words against Keith’s lips, “I love you, you stupid haystack.”

Lance wasn’t sure who closed the distance. It didn’t really matter. Keith squeezed him close until only the tips of his toes brushed the ground and all the air left his lungs. He tangled his fingers into Keith’s hair, dislodging the loose ponytail. 

Eventually, Keith let out a shuddery breath and stepped back, holding Lance at arm’s length so he could look at him, eyes red and face lost.

“This is, um.” He swallowed. “A lot. I think...I’m gonna need some time.”

“Oh.” After all that Lance had been sure that they were fixed. “As in, we’re not together?”

“We are. I just…” Keith knuckled at his eyes, only serving to make them more irritated and red. “I just...need to process. Twenty minutes ago, I thought you were staying here indefinitely. Now you’re leaving in a few days and not coming back for who knows how many years? I mean...maybe...if I can put aside some cash, I could consider…”

His gaze drifted over Lance’s shoulder, back towards his shop. 

Lance pulled his face back and shook his head. “Two years. Max. I already finished community college and if I do twice the course load I can graduate early. There’s enough money from the insurance policy to cover at least a year of school and then some. Maybe even enough to start renting a new space.”

Keith’s answering smirk was dry and humorless. “Unless you get back to California and remember all the reasons you never wanted to leave in the first place.”

“Don’t you trust me?” It sounded desperate and pleading, but Lance couldn’t care less. He _felt_ desperate.

Keith’s hands found their way back into his jean pockets. “Look, just...just go hang out with your friends, alright? I’ll...call you later.” 

There was nothing he could say to that. Lance nodded and crossed his arms to stave off the sudden chill in the air. Keith’s flannel smelled like his own detergent and it made his stomach turn. He dug his fingers into the soft fabric. It didn’t match his outfit anyway.

In a decision he’d barely decided on, Lance tugged it off and shoved it into the crook of Keith’s arm between his elbow and his body. “Yeah, okay. Just, don’t be me, okay?” 

With that, he turned to run back to the shop, sneakers slipping in the grass as he tried to keep it together. This wasn’t a break up. It wasn’t. 

He wouldn’t let it be.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Autumn: Hey y'all, thanks for being here. One more chapter left, and you won't have to wait long, since it's already written and in beta. See you after that in the sequel to Star Cursed, Star Fallen! 
> 
> Ps, if you haven’t done so, please Google “candle salad” because that is a real-ass thing. My grandma made it - *with* mayonnaise. 
> 
> Sail: only one more chapter left and i'm in tears. I was a big fan of [of florists & tennis shoes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7512295) and wanted to write my own take on this trope. The reason they make flower crowns in this is actually because i love the flower crown kiss in OF&TS (if anyone even remembers that far back in this fic) So this was a dream come true and i have Autumn to thank for helping me make it a reality~~ This fic has been a beast, but writing it with autumn is one of my best memories now. 
> 
> This fic is a written version of my heart and really got me through quarantine. Its much longer than we'd planned because we couldn't bring ourselves to write the angst and wanted them to be happier for a little longer while we dealt with a real life crisis. So i appreciate everyone sticking around passed the 100k mark <3 I'll see you for the last time in chapter 12 <3
> 
> Star Cursed book 2 - Star Fallen is coming out now that this one is wrapping up and Lemon Boys will be following it!
> 
> We are also hosting a for-fun fic competition with a holiday theme! Check out [Wrapping My Heart](https://twitter.com/SailUnchartd/status/1328393421460004865?s=20) to love on some fics and get snuggly with warm winter klance


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I hold it true, whate'er befall;  
> I feel it when I sorrow most;  
> 'Tis better to have loved and lost  
> Than never to have loved at all.”
> 
> ― Alfred Lord Tennyson, In Memoriam

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like what we do? wanna hang out with us on Twitter? [Autumn Ignited](https://twitter.com/AutumnIgnited) and [SailUnchartedWaters](https://twitter.com/SailUnchartd)

~🌸~

Pancake Palace looked a lot dingier and more run down when he wasn’t basking in a post-coital, sex-in-a-battlefield, no-really-people-died-there-why-are-you-like-this-Keith afterglow. 

It wasn’t even like the food had been stellar. It was just the only place in a five mile radius that was open and that he could reach on his bike. 

Lance made up one of three occupied tables, the other two going to a half-asleep trucker guy practically dozing even as he ate, and a waitress scrolling through her phone on her break. The clock on the wall was louder than the music, but the tick of it was still a counterpoint to the slow, sad, old-timey country twang crackling over the speakers. 

He picked at his oatmeal, not really that hungry after all. 

Hunk and Pidge were sent on their merry way with promises to pick Lance up from the airport in a few days’ time. They’d helped him pack his meager apartment and list his couch for sale. The only things left to pack were the last of his clothes. The rest of his belongings would need a home until he came back. 

Which was the reason he was staring at his phone. Well, not the only reason.

Keith hadn’t texted him. At all. 

Heck, he hadn’t even seen his boyfriend since their Talk, capital T. 

Lance dropped his spoon to worry at his thumb, chewing away at his nail. It was a habit he’d kicked in his teens to accommodate his full skincare and nail routine, but recently he hadn’t had the time nor inclination to pamper himself. His skin was scratchy and his nails were growing too long. 

It must’ve been a side effect of having his livelihood burn and his boyfriend ghost him. Lance’s teeth ached as he chewed.

Their chat was kinda funny if he thought about it from an outsider’s perspective: an unanswered barrage of texts from Keith followed by an equally unanswered barrage from himself. They ranged from casual requests to hang out, all the way to full begging to have a place for his plants and a home for his bike.

Still nothing.

Lance dropped his phone on the table, trusting the case to protect it. It slammed down hard, startling the trucker into wakefulness for a whole millisecond. 

Lance’s teeth snapped through the nail with a clack and he worked it off little by little to the edge where it hung on to the skin. 

And the thing was, he didn’t really know how he felt about it all? Angry, sure. It sucked being on the other end of radio silence. But somewhere in the back of his mind, Lance understood Keith’s actions. Didn’t love them, but understood them. 

He knew enough about Keith’s past to realize that Keith’s fear of abandonment went molten-core-level deep and springing the news of Lance’s departure on him likely hadn’t helped matters.

But that was the whole problem right there! 

If he could have just talked to Keith about this stuff without the fear that his skittish, lock-jawed, clamshell of a boyfriend would bolt at the first few words, maybe they could have made this transition smoother. It took ages for Keith to even build up enough trust to kiss him; talking to him about leaving for college? That was nearly impossible. 

And the thing was...he’d thought there’d be time. Time to unfold it all slowly, time for them to build enough of a foundation that Keith would know beyond a shadow of a doubt that, though Lance might be temporarily gone, he wasn’t _leaving._

Lance ripped the end of the nail off and it cut down his cuticle. Shit, that stung. 

It hurt. Well, the nail hurt, but also the fact that Keith really didn’t trust him. Every day that passed cemented that fact into Lance’s heart.

The reason Keith wasn’t replying was because, in the end, he believed Lance was lying. 

Abandoning his thumb, Lance worked his way through three fingers on his right and two on his left before he turned off his phone. If Keith wasn’t going to text, then he didn’t want to sit around and wait for nothing. 

Black liquid splashed into his cup and Lance jumped from his thoughts. He hadn’t even heard the waitress walk over. She laughed a little and patted his shoulder. 

Lance tucked into himself to get out from her hand; he still wasn’t used to the casual touches here.

“Sorry, hon, didn’t mean to scare ya. Just wanted to let you know I’m clockin’ out and Louis is going to be takin’ care a’ya from here on out, alright?” She jerked her thumb over her shoulder to indicate the guy standing behind her.

“Yeah, okay,” Lance replied automatically before he had even processed whom he was looking at. 

Oh. fan-fucking- _tastic_. 

_That guy._

Lance shrunk down into his booth. Maybe if he stayed quiet and left as soon as possible he could avoid Meat-for-Brains. “Actually, can I get my check?”

She shrugged. “Sure. Be right back.”

Even as she left, he could feel those cold eyes on him. She wasn’t gone thirty seconds before the dude came over and leaned against the booth, crowding down into Lance’s space.

“Hey, there, flower fag,” he said, all false politeness. His breath was sour - or maybe it was from his pit-stained shirt. Lance wrinkled his nose. “Though I guess we gotta call you somethin’ else now, huh? Don’t got yourself a flower shop no more.”

"If you try too hard to think of something new or you’ll sprain a neuron." Out of all the people who worked here why did it have to be this guy? Lance wished Keith was there, or even Hunk. Heck, Pidge was probably feisty enough to take this guy. Instead, he was alone in Pancake Palace with no one to hide behind. 

The disgusting mask of strained politeness fell and Louis' face twisted like he’d stepped in a type of dog shit named Lance. “Don’t get snarky with me, _queer_ ,” he spat the word, quite literally, into his face, “Or next time it’ll be you.”

Whatever pounding Keith gave this dude, the fear of it had clearly worn off. Lance had seen hate before. Even in California, he’d seen it in people’s eyes when they looked at him, but he’d never had them spitting slurs in his face before. And never when he was so very alone. 

A nervous laugh bubbled up from his chest as his finger searched for the power button on his phone. “What? Did you not get enough of Keith’s boot in your face last time?”

That red-blotched face came even closer, eyes bright and shining with malice as Louis’ lips curled into a wicked sneer of a smile. 

“All’m sayin is that if you didn’t get the message loud n’ clear the first time, my buddies and me can always try again to... _light a fire_ under your ass.”

Lance froze. 

The way he’d said it, it made it completely obvious what he meant.

Louis hissed and pressed his finger on an invisible spray can as he spelled ‘fag’ backwards in the air. “The likes of you ain’t wanted here, if we haven't made that clear.” With that, he left Lance for the kitchens. 

The familiar jingle of his phone powering up startled Lance into action. 

He didn't stop when the waitress yelled at him and he didn't stop when the door wouldn’t open because he pulled the wrong way. Not even when he fell off his bike into the roadside grass did he slow down. He barely comprehended where he was going; all he knew was he had to get out of there. 

It wasn't until he was out of breath, bent over his bike outside his shop, that he knew. 

The red tacky spray paint was everywhere now that he knew to look. The fire had covered it; hidden it enough to the point that it was almost invisible under the soot. 

But it was there. Vandalism.

Arson.

They had done this to him. _On purpose._

Someone had burned down his grandmother’s shop - _his_ shop - just because they didn’t like the way he looked or the way he dressed or who even fucking knew. They didn’t even need a reason, not really. Hatred alone was enough. 

Lance stumbled off his bike, head light as he tore through the caution tape. All he could see was Louis’ bright red face, his satisfied sneer, and all he could hear were those sick words: _flower fag - don’t got a flower shop no more._

Fuck the old wiring from next door. _He was being driven out._

Suddenly there was a firm grip on his biceps, a low voice saying his name. 

Lance was done being scared and he was _done_ crying. Whoever it was, Louis or one of his cronies, it didn't matter. He wasn't going down without a fight. 

The grip on his arms was solid but he dropped his entire body weight to the floor. "Get away, Louis!" 

His assailant definitely hadn’t been expecting that, because he got tugged down right along with Lance, crashing to his knees with a painful, punched-out sound. 

“Ow, Jesus - Lance, stop - you were screaming - _Lance!_ Calm down, it’s me!”

Lance stopped kicking behind him and whipped his head up. 

Oh fucking Goddammit to hell. 

"Keith. You're not Louis." 

Keith groaned and rubbed at his side. “No shit - what’s Louis got to do with anything?” Then his head whipped up and his expression darkened. “Is he following you? Did he hurt you?”

“I don’t know; I didn’t look. I was too busy running away.” Keith was so close and talking so casually that Lance didn’t want to mess it up. He dusted some ash from Keith's jacket, trying to pretend everything was normal. 

“What? From what? What the hell did he do?” Keith caught his hand and squeezed it, trying to catch his eyes. “I’ll kill him this time, I swear to god, that sonofabitch, if he put a hand on you-“

“No, no. Not me.” Anger balled in his fists and curled in his chest until he was squeezing Keith back just as hard. “Here. _This_ . He told me; that's why I left. He might’ve followed me, I don’t know, but I _do_ know it was a threat.”

Keith shook his head. “Slow down. You gotta say everything in your head, remember? I can’t hear it all. What did he tell you? What’s a threat?” 

Lance swallowed and took a steadying breath. “At Pancake Palace, he was there and he practically confessed to burning my shop down. Look.” He pointed to a shiny black line that ran diagonally across his burnt shelves. “He spray painted the place.”

Keith followed the line of his finger, and his whole face darkened. 

Then he launched to his feet.

“What are you doing?” Lance asked, still sitting in the soot.

“I’m done with warnings. When I’m done with him, that motherfucker’s gonna eat through a _tube_ for the rest of his miserable life.”

“No!” Lance said, voice pitching as he scrambled up and caught Keith by the elbow. “Keith, you promised.” 

Keith jerked from his hold, but only to grip Lance’s arms again. “You want me to let him get away with this? Think he can hurt you, do this shit and just - just! It’s his fault! It’s _his_ fault you’re leaving, and your grandma’s shop is - is - he needs to _pay_ for this, Lance!”

By the end of his rant, Keith’s hands were completely shaking with the rage he was having a hard time containing. It was written in the wild storm surge of his eyes and the desperate hitch in his voice. 

“I know,” Lance whispered, rough and raw. “Don’t you think I know? But you promised me, Keith. No more fighting. You already lied to me once.”

Keith looked like he was torn between screaming and crying, but he closed his eyes and took in a deep breath through his nose, letting it out in a slow, shuddery exhale. 

“...Fine.”

“Thank you.” 

Lance squeezed his hand, trying to lessen the pressure on his chest. His breath was shallow but Keith's firm presence was steading. “You can do something for me, though.”

Keith sighed. “Yeah, anything.”

“Take me to the police station? I need to file a report.”

~🌸~

“The report is final. If you want to reopen the case, that means that you’d be changing the insurance claim. I’m not sure if you’d be able to keep the money if no evidence is found.”

Lance shook the scrap of chalkboard with the spray mark on it. “How is this not evidence? He practically confessed to my face!”

“Did anyone else hear?” Shiro’s demeanor was calm, with his fingers interlaced in front of him. His desk was pristine and aggravatingly bare. A computer and nameplate were the only clutter. 

That sucked, because Lance really wanted to throw something. Who didn’t have at least a stress ball laying around? The same stupid questions over and over, and here they were, going through them _again_. 

Beside him, Keith squeezed his hand, but it didn’t do much to ground him. If anything, it only riled him up further because he could feel Keith’s matching frustration rolling off of him, feeding his own anger. 

“I don’t know if anyone heard him. Can’t you ask them? You’re the cop.” He threw his hands up, tossing the slice of chalkboard onto Shiro’s desk in the process. It clacked and scraped, leaving a dotted smudge against the polished wood.

Shiro sighed, obviously trying to stay calm under Lance’s tantrum. “I can’t without an investigation, and if you reopen the case, I’m not sure how the insurance company will cooperate. You should talk to them first.”

“He confessed!”

“Shiro!” Keith protested at the same time. 

“It’s your word against his. We need more than that. This is a serious accusation, Mr. Fuentes. Do you understand that? You’re accusing Louis Dempsey of arson. That’s a violent crime and a felony.”

As soon as Lance opened his mouth to protest once more, Shiro leaned forward a little and lowered his voice. 

“Listen - for the record, I believe you. He’s a bigoted, racist asshole, and he and Keith have had it out for years.” A glance at Keith had Keith muttering something not-so-Southern-gentlemanly at Lance’s side. “But I can’t run an investigation on my gut, and I’m worried that if we can’t find anything definitive, he gets away with it _and_ you lose the insurance money. So I’m just trying to get you to think about it.”

“But he confessed,” Lance repeated, slouching down into the cheap folding chair. Shiro was useless. What was even the point of having a boyfriend whose brother was a cop if he was going to be as useless as every other cop in the world? 

“Come on, Shiro,” Keith goaded, one hand on Lance’s shoulder, massaging it absentmindedly. “There’s gotta be something you can do. This isn’t just us getting in fist fights. This is Lance and Mrs. F’s shop. A fuckin’ _hate crime_.” 

Shiro sighed, and his expression was nothing but honest sympathy, which was about the least useful and most offensive thing it could be. 

“I’m not saying I won’t do it. I’m just encouraging you to consider the possible outcome before you make a formal request. Think on it for a bit once your tempers cool.”

Lance wanted to punch Shiro or scream or tell Keith, no actually, he changed his mind, Keith could go right ahead and beat up that motherfucker. Instead, Lance kicked the desk, scuffing it with his shoe. “What even is the point?”

“You got your money, Lance. I don’t want to see you lose that, too.” Shiro stood and motioned towards the door. “I think you boys need to step outside and cool your heads before you beat up any more office furniture.” 

Keith glared at him even as he hauled Lance up by the arm and strode for the door. 

“And Keith,” Shiro called after them. “Don’t you dare let me wake up to find you in the county jail again, you hear me?”

Keith’s only answer was a firm one-fingered salute as he pulled Lance outside.

The air was warm compared to the chilly police office and the sun blinded him as they left the fluorescent flicker. Lance kicked at a pebble as he laced his arm into Keith’s. “I hate him. I know he’s your brother, but I hate him.”

“Right now, I’m inclined to agree.” Keith frowned down at a crack in the brick sidewalk where a little family of stubborn dandelions had made a home. “I know he’s doing his job and all, but there’s got to be _something_ we can do.”

“Yeah, apparently I can take my money and run. I’m just...” Lance leaned heavily against Keith, trusting him to not let them fall over. He smelled like real leather and wind with a hint of sweat from the encroaching summer. “So tired.”

Keith let his head rest on Lance’s, bringing one hand up to scratch lightly at his scalp. “Yeah.”

“When is the universe going to be done with me? Can’t I just have one little break?” He buried himself deeper into Keith. Slipping his arms into the jacket, he pulled Keith into a hug that was mostly for himself.

“Does that promise not to beat the shit out of Louis still hold if you’re not around?”

“Yes,” Lance said, muffled into his shirt. “If I find out you beat him up I’m going to- to- _to do something not nice_.”

The huff of air Keith let out was an approximation of a laugh. “Duly noted.” 

Lance squeezed his eyes shut, pulling Keith closer. “I missed you.”

The body beneath him tensed, then relaxed. 

“Missed you, too.” Keith murmured, then glanced down at his watch. “I’ve got a client in twenty minutes. You want to...wait at my shop? Or, uh…”

“So...you’re talking to me again?”

“Lance.” His name was resigned, sad, exhausted. “You’re leaving. I’m doing my best to swallow that. This shit ain’t my strong suit, you know.” 

“I know.” But if he was being honest with himself, he didn’t really have the energy to care. It was selfish, yeah; so what? Lance wanted to be selfish with Keith. He wanted all of Keith even if he was the one leaving. “But I’m glad you are; I deserved it, but I didn’t enjoy it.”

When Keith pulled back, it was to pinch his eyes shut and dig a knuckle into the space between his eyebrows where Lance knew he tended to get headaches from the ink fumes. “Yeah. So - you comin’?”

“Yeah.” Things might not have been perfect, but they were talking. Talking about things that weren't them breaking up. Lance grinned. “Got plenty of time now since I’m a bum who doesn’t work.”

Keith tried for a smile, but it was pinched. “You can keep Red company. C’mon.”

When they made it to the shop, Lance occupied himself by playing with Red. Red was soft and cute and sweet but Lance could only think about Keith in the other room. The sinking feeling of having fucked up stuck to every movement and thought, as if the air itself was pressing down on him with every error and misstep he’d made, taunting him and turning his nerves raw.

“What do you think?” Lance mumbled into Red’s fur. “Think me and your dad have a chance?”

Red flicked her tail. 

“Helpful.”

As soon as the door bell jangled to sound the customer’s exit a little while later, Keith poked his head around the wall.

“Think you can disturb the missus enough to take a walk with me?”

_A walk._

Lance had gone on enough ‘walks’ to know that he was probably about to get dumped. 

His fingers dug into Red’s soft fur, trying to find the warmth underneath it. The little lady purred like a monster truck idling, and it grounded him enough to think. He _wanted_ to say no; wanted to avoid this at all costs. 

There was only one problem. 

He really did love Keith with all his heart, so if Keith wanted to break up, well. 

Lance sat Red on the floor and dusted the hair from his shorts. “Sure,” he said, bright and cheerful. “We going to the pharmacy?”

“Not unless you want to,” Keith shrugged. “I was thinking the General Store? River’s real pretty down there with the fireflies this time of year.”

“Wait. There’s fireflies here? Like, glowing, blinking, real-life _fireflies_?”

Keith raised an eyebrow. “What’d you think was all over the field when we…y’know…”

“Oh, right. I was just, um, distracted. Obviously.” Lance covered his cheeks to hide the heat that was growing on them. “That was my first time but I didn’t get to really enjoy it, I mean. First time seeing fireflies. Well, also sex, but fireflies, too. I don’t mean I didn’t enjoy the sex, I did. It was the fireflies-”

Chuckling, Keith motioned for the door. “Come on, then. Let’s go get you a good look at them.”

Nodding, Lance followed Keith out into the afternoon. Bugs buzzed in the soft breeze and the sound of the street settling down for the day was all around them. Lance wasn’t really sure what to do with his hands. If they were going to break up, then holding hands was probably a no-no. 

He wished Keith would just get it over with. Quick like a Band-Aid and then Lance could go home, cry for the umpteenth time, and be miserable for the rest of his life. 

For being such a nice night, there weren’t very many people out enjoying the late twilight. Even the General Store was mostly quiet, save for some kind of light slide guitar and low chatter from the patio. 

It was there, in a spot of meadow that was half-yellow with the General Store’s lights and half twinkling with fireflies, that Keith stopped.

“So, um,” he started, fidgeting with his hands in his pockets. “First of all...I guess I should apologize. It was an asshole thing to avoid texting you back. I hated when you did it to me, so I should’ve remembered.”

“I told you, I deserved it. No worries. Turnabout’s fair play and all that.” The nervous energy rolling off Keith sent Lance bouncing on his toes. The grass made a soft noise with every bounce that Lance could only describe as green. A fresh green sound that calmed him along with the gentle rock of his body. 

“Second. I um - I got you something. Well, made it. I made you something. Um. Here.”

Keith’s face, as he handed over a little lump of newspaper, made him look like he was 10 years old, handing his crush a Valentine and about to throw up from the guts it took to do so. “It’s not very good since it’s the first time I’ve done it.”

Lance held it up to the glow of the General Store’s lights. The jumble of badly wrapped newspaper rivaled even Pidge’s wrapping job. How Lance had acquired so many friends who couldn’t wrap a present to save their life, he’d never know. 

“I wasn’t expecting this. Do you usually give gifts to the boys you break up with?”

Keith’s nose wrinkled. “Break up? I never said....” He shook his head. “Just open it.”

Tentative relief relaxed Lance's shoulders and he picked open his gift. So, the walk wasn't for breaking up. Then why had Keith dragged him all the way to the General Store? 

Once he’d peeled away the newspaper, Lance just took a moment to look at what it had hidden. 

The object was more or less the size of a hockey puck - a smooth, clear lump of plastic that glinted with a faint dusting of glitter, fine as sand, when he turned it in the light. Right in the middle, suspended in perfect bloom, was a huge white gardenia. 

“I took it from Eileen’s,” Keith went on hurriedly. “It’s resin, so if I did it right, the flower will keep...basically forever. I’m sorry it’s a little lumpy, I’ve never exactly - it - anyway, I just thought…”

He took a deep breath and tried again, taking a small step towards Lance. “I just thought it might help, you know? To have a little piece of Peach Springs with you, until you can come back. A little piece of...of us. Until you can come back. To me.” 

His thick eyebrows raised, open and pleading. Keith had never looked more vulnerable than he did in that moment, not even naked and spent in a field of flowers after his very first time with Lance. Not when he’d cried about Lance leaving after their first fight, when his face was beaten to a pulp. Not when he’d been sitting in the river, laughing as they skipped rocks. Not when they’d shared their first kiss in the glow of a Taco Bell sign at stupid o’clock in the morning. Not even when they’d sat in the garden this gardenia had come from, dripping with promises, ivy, and starlight. 

It was in that exact moment, in that field of wildflowers and to the sound of slide guitar, that Keith unlocked himself completely for the first time. 

“Do you...understand what I’m trying to say?”

Lance turned the flower over in his hands, watching the light play off the resin as it reflected the glow of the fireflies. He was acutely aware of the matching blank flower on his back. 

"I don't want you to finish my tattoo." Keith’s face cracked and he frowned, opening his mouth to counter that but Lance was quick to interrupt. "I don't want you to finish it until I come back. Like, a promise. Like this," he said, holding up the flower. 

Keith nodded slowly. “...Alright. It’s-” He swallowed, and then gave Lance a small, thin smile. “It’s a promise, then.”

Lance understood. This wasn't a gift or a flower, this was Keith's heart. In Keith's extremely shy way, Lance was pretty sure Keith was giving him all of his trust. Which was more than anyone had ever given him outside his family. 

"I'll keep it safe." 

Again, Keith nodded. He looked restless, unsure of what to do with his body, unsure of where to look. 

Lance caught him by the hand and squeezed it. “Thanks for not breaking up with me.”

Keith snorted. “Don’t mention it.”

“Now about taking care of my plants.” 

“...I’m not sure I’m your guy for that one. You saw what I did to that tiny cactus thing you made me take to the shop.”

"It was a succulent. And you better take care of them, if any of my babies are dead when I come back, it'll be your -”

He was cut off by Keith tugging him close by their intertwined hand. Keith’s free hand threaded itself into Lance’s hair and his eyes were bright even in the fading twilight as he searched Lance’s face.

“Need to kiss you,” he murmured, already leaning in, eyes at half-mast. “That okay?”

Lance answered by closing the gap. It felt like years had passed since the last kiss, a quick half-remembered thing before he’d left for the airport. He longed for Keith’s hands in his hair and the heat of his body seeping into his own. The world was so dim without Keith by his side. That was the thing Hunk and Pidge couldn’t see. The way colors became sharper, sound clearer, and food more delicious because Keith was there to breathe life into them.

It was a hidden element that only Lance could experience, but couldn’t seem to get anyone to believe. Not even Keith, until now.

When they drew apart, Keith didn’t immediately open his eyes. His breath shuddered against Lance’s mouth, and he traced over the plump pout of Lance’s lower lip with his thumb. 

“Bring your plants to my place,” Keith conceded, barely a whisper. “But...stay. Stay with me tonight.”

At Keith’s request, the reality of actually leaving hit Lance. There wouldn’t be anymore kisses or late night talks or ghost walks. No more Doritos in the afternoon or cherry sodas for lunch. No more Keith. Keith would become as far away as Hunk was in his phone. 

Lance kissed him again, desperate and greedy. Up on his tippy-toes, he pleaded against Keith’s lips, “And tomorrow.” 

~🌸~

Keith had not exaggerated the state of his loft. One look at it, and Lance knew exactly why he slept at the shop. 

It wasn’t even technically a “Loft apartment” - just an attic where a toilet, sink, and shower had been added to what was once a literal broom closet. As in, barely enough room for Lance to turn in a circle, and Keith was broader than him so it was a wonder he hadn’t gotten stuck in there permanently with one wrong step.

The roof was an A-frame, so the walls on either side slanted to a point, and on the far wall was a single window with an old flannel sheet pinned up to act as a curtain. There was an unmade mattress on the floor, a litter box and bowls for Red on the opposite side of the room, a microwave, a filing cabinet spilling over with granola bars and Pop-Tarts, and an honest to god boombox. 

And...yeah, that was about it.

Keith shifted his weight and glanced around, idly scratching the back of his head.

“I. Uh. Didn’t really expect company. Now, or...ever.” 

"It's…" Lance searched for anything kind to say and came up empty handed. "Yours." 

“Well, it’s not like I was hosting slumber parties,” Keith protested, hot and pouty. “And lately, I’d started saving up t-” He cut himself off and coughed. “Anyway. I promise it’s all clean at least. I’m not that hopeless. Make yourself at home.”

Lance caught the unfinished sentence but didn't want to think about it. It hurt too much. So instead, he settled down onto the mattress. 

"I'm not sure where all my plants would fit. Some of them will have to live at Area 51 along with my bike." 

“Sure.”

They sat there for a moment with the silence stretched between them as Keith shifted uncomfortably in the middle of the attic. Lance watched the guarded emotions play across his face. 

This was his fault. There had to be a way to fix it, but how?

"I'll call every day. Or- or text if I can't. And heck, I'll write you letters if you want." 

Keith nodded. “Sure. You want some tea? I have to nuke the water but I have a box around here somewhere.”

"Keith." Lance sighed as Keith froze. "When you asked me to go on a walk, I thought we were going to talk. I leave in a week." 

“We are talking.” 

“You’re asking me about tea.”

“Yeah? I’m being a good host.”

Lance clutched the resin flower in his pocket. This was going to be okay. He could press this. 

“You are,” he soothed, “and I’d love some tea, but I also think we should actually talk about this.”

Once Lance had given Keith permission to occupy himself with a task, he seemed almost laser-focused on hunting through his filing cabinet for whatever generic brand tea he had squirreled away in there. The set of his brow made it appear as if the cabinet itself had insulted him and everything he stood for.

“There’s nothing to talk about, Lance. You know how I feel about you, I said I’d wait, and it’s my job to support you in whatever you wanna do. End of discussion. The tea’s Duke somethin’-or-other, that okay? Don’t think I have anything floral…”

“Yes, that’s fine.” Pulling out the flower, he ran his finger over the bumpy surface. Keith had learned how to pour resin just to steal a flower from Eileen’s garden for him. It was exactly the kind of elaborate thing Keith would do to avoid actually talking about feelings. “But that’s not the end of the discussion. You can’t run from this.”

“I’m not running! What more do you want me to say?” Keith emerged from the cabinet with a dented box of Earl Grey that looked like it had been through the wars. He fiddled with the smashed-in lid. “Like you said, you leave in a week. No point in dwellin’.”

His accent was thickening, whiskey-sweet and molasses-slow. It always seemed to do that when Keith was pushing through his emotions, as if talking became so difficult that the words couldn’t be thoroughly completed. Like whatever he was saying might as well be coming from the moon, a static crackle that was half of what he actually needed to say. 

Lance stood, leaving the flower on the mattress. He put his hand over the box and tried to catch Keith’s eye. “You’re still hurt.”

“I’m fine. Let it go.”

Keith was being extremely stubborn, but Lance was used to it. He’d cracked through Keith’s shell once, he could do it again. Taking the tea from Keith’s slack fingers, Lance managed to finagle the top open without ripping the whole box. “Sorry, I’m not Elsa. I’m more like Kristoff, too dumb to let the conversation drop.”

Keith made a face at him. “What?”

“ _Frozen_? The Disney - you know what, nevermind. We’ll watch it later.”

Shaking his head, Keith went to grab the tea, but Lance held it out of his reach. Frowning, he tried again, but Lance had longer arms and a cabinet holding Keith out of the way. 

“What the hell, Lance, give me the box!”

“Not until you talk to me!”

“About _what_?!”

"Us! You! All the things you're feeling. Just… _talk_ to me. I want you to trust me enough to talk to me." 

“And what do you want me to say?!” Keith demanded. “You _know_ how I feel! This is exactly why I tried so hard _not_ to fall for you.”

Lance cringed, clutching the box of tea to his chest, but it did nothing to stop the daggers of Keith’s words.

“Because I _knew_ it was going to be hard, I _knew_ you were leaving, and you know what? Now I just hate _myself_ for getting my hopes up that maybe you’d decided to stay for good, when I know good and well Peach Springs wasn’t ever gonna be the place for you - and - and - and I’m mad at _you_ for basically telling me that and then all of a sudden ripping the rug out without even telling me you were _considering_ it!”

The box crunched under his fingers. That wasn’t fair. How was he even supposed to talk to Keith about leaving in the first place without it blowing up exactly like this? Lance glared down at Keith’s mouth, trying to hold his ground.

He crowded into Lance’s space, shoving the cabinet aside to get close. 

Lance took a step back. So much for holding his ground. 

“And you know what else?” 

Lance shook his head, not trusting his voice.

“It scares the fuckin’ daylights outta me that I thought _I_ knew what I wanted - that I worked my ass off to go from some drugged-up waste of space who was just gonna die and clog up the city drains to someone with a decent business built on his own merit - just to have that all uprooted! I have a home here, I finally have a place and people who love me, and all of a sudden what I want, what I _really_ want, is just to be with you! To go wherever you go, and I don’t know if I even _can_ , because I - I -” his voice splintered, cracked and fizzled into nothing like the buzz of a firework after it exploded. 

“Keith…”

Keith’s shoulders fell right as the fury in his eyes was overtaken by sudden dampness. He swiped at his eyes angrily with the heel of his palm, growling in frustration as he averted his gaze.

“ _Fuck you,_ Lance, for changing everything, for comin’ through this town like a goddamn tidal wave, for making me care, and then putting all that to the test before I could even get comfortable with the idea of being in love. All this shit Shiro’s tried to get me to swallow about trust, and how not everybody leaves, and now I have to navigate someone staying in my heart while leaving me behind and it - _I can’t_ \- I don’t know how to -”

Lance threw the tea box at him. It hit Keith square in the forehead before dropping to the floor to scatter tea bags at their feet. 

“You’re acting like some poor damsel that doesn’t have any say in his life. I didn’t force you to do anything. You’re blaming me for what, Keith? Because you like me back and that scares you? Well, get over it! It scares me, too, okay!?” Lance was breathing hard as he pressed right back into Keith’s space, recovering the ground he’d lost. 

“Maybe if you took two seconds to think about someone other than yourself, you’d realize that I’ve been just as scared. And how exactly am I supposed to talk to you about going to college when you act like this?! Of course I didn’t tell you! You said so yourself, you pushed me away - and maybe I didn’t want to be pushed further!”

“Scared of what?” Keith countered. “Isn’t this exactly what you wanted all along? You were always going to go home, you never wanted to stay here, and you know what? I don’t even blame you! Why stay somewhere you can’t be yourself without someone burning down your livelihood? You have exactly zero reason to come back here, except for me, and asking you to come back just for that? _That’s_ what’s not fair. So yeah, it’s a little bit hard for me to take you at your word, because the minute you’re free of this place, you’ll remember why you never wanted to be here to start with.”

Keith blinked hard, forcing his eyes to stay dry. “I can’t help that you have my heart, and I can’t take that back, but I don’t want to stay with you if it’s only going to make you miserable in the end. You deserve better.”

Lance took a deep, shuddering breath and unclenched his fists. That same dread that told him everything he was about to say was going to sound like a lie bubbled up inside him, but this time he didn’t listen to it. It wasn’t a lie and if Keith thought it was, well, that was his problem.

“I _like_ it here. I like biking to work and knowing everyone’s names, and hearing the latest gossip from Stell. I like smoking with Sonny in the back of my shop and hanging out with you in the afternoon. And I don’t let fear make decisions for me.” Lance held out his hand for Keith to take. “If anything, finding out Louis burned down my shop only makes me want to stay more. Shove it in his dumb, pimpled face.”

Keith barked a laugh, sharp and wet, but allowed Lance to take his hand. “It’s just...we didn’t get any time. I want more time with you before I have to watch you get on that plane. I’m -” Keith’s hand in his trembled a little with the admission. “I’m going to miss you so goddamn much. Now I’m used to having’ you, dunno what I’m gonna do without you.” 

Lance pulled him in for a tight hug, squeezing some tears out of his boyfriend in the process. “Good. I’m selfish. I don’t want anyone else to get to you while I’m gone. Sometimes I think you don’t realize how absolutely drop dead handsome you are. What if some cute southern boy with freckles and an accent comes into your shop one day? Huh? What would I do then?”

“Hear all about the tattoo I gave him before he turned around and walked right back out the door,” Keith muttered into his shoulder. 

Lance pulled him closer, tucking Keith into the crook of his neck. The bulk of him was crouched to fit in the awkward space and to curl around Lance. “I love you. I just wish I could prove it to you so that you’d believe me instead of the voices in your head.”

He could feel Keith’s exhale, hot and shivery against his neck. “...You could show me.”

“I’m afraid I didn’t do anything cool like make a flower out of my heart. I don’t know how to show you.”

Keith pulled back, eyelashes lowered and face pink as he licked his lips. “...I mean that I...that I want you. Want to remember how you feel.”

It wasn’t so much the words as it was the need in his eyes that let Lance know exactly what he was talking about. After all, plants didn’t speak, but they clearly showed what they needed. Keith was sort of like that, never coming out forthright and direct, but always showing Lance with his actions exactly what Lance needed to do.

So Lance pulled him towards the mattress and sprinkled kisses across his cheeks as he whispered softly in between. He wasn’t even sure what he said, just quiet reassurances as he cradled Keith’s head in his hands.

It was slow how he worked Keith out of his clothes and gentle how he spread Keith apart, all the while holding him and whispering. 

Lance would brush the bangs from his eyes and tell him how beautiful he was. He held Keith’s hand, kissing each fingertip like a promise. It wasn’t as if Keith was fragile, that wasn't it. It was as if Lance was pressing bandages onto old wounds and sewing up past fears, kissing them away so they couldn’t haunt Keith in the back of his mind.

One by one, Lance would find them and heal them with his lips and soothe them with his fingers until Keith was muttering his name like a mantra. 

He spilled over into Keith, holding him tight as they came. The places on their bodies where their fingers had dug in would blossom with bruises in the morning, but right now it was perfect. It let them know that the other was solid and real. 

Keith chased Lance’s lips as he broke their kiss. Something had shifted between them, something deeper than Lance even understood. 

More than love, and more than lust, he trusted Keith with his whole heart, gave it willingly over without fear. Lance was pretty sure that Keith had done the same. All he’d needed was the reassurance that Lance wasn’t going to break his heart, that he could trust Lance in a way that he’d never trusted anyone before.

It was sobering and heavy. 

Just like the resin flower.

Lance would never forget that night, so different from their first time or any time after that. The memory was sealed into his skin, tattooed there by Keith’s own hands.

~🌸~

The flower clunked in his jacket pocket as he walked. It was too hot for a jacket, but his suitcase was too full. He only needed to make it into the airport before he’d be saved by the air conditioning. 

“And don’t over-water the ivy. I already saved her from near death by a previous owner. And I went through hell to get that Chinese money plant when they were at their peak of popularity. If he’s dead, I will murder you, with love, but still murder.”

Lance’s suitcases rattled rhythmically behind them as they power walked through the parking lot.

“Yeah, yeah.” Keith readjusted one of Lance’s giant duffel bags across his back. “So you’ve said. And given me about thirty pages of written instructions. And threatened to make me FaceTime with your plants. I think we’re good.” 

“They’re my babies, Keith. How would you feel if you had to leave Red for months?”

“Like I could trust my boyfriend not to kill her after I gave him an entire library’s worth of lectures.” Keith glanced at his watch. “Come on, beautiful - little less bustle, little more hustle.”

Lance’s gut twisted. This is what he wanted: back to Long Beach and the ocean and his friends. Temporarily, but still back to where things made sense. 

Back to his old life where everyone moved at a normal speed and strangers didn't try to start conversations - or worse, shake hands. Where there was too much traffic and everything was go, go, go. 

Back to California where his life wasn't perfect, but at least he'd been ignorant of Keith's existence. Now though, his stomach turned at the thought of leaving. 

Not that he'd tell Keith that. 

He’d promised himself he wouldn't stay for a guy, and he was going to keep that promise to himself even if it hurt. But leaving for himself and coming back for himself...that would be worth the pain it took in between. 

The rough brush of Keith’s callused hand drew him back as Keith tugged on it to get his attention. His smile was sweet, even if a little sad.

“I said ‘hustle’ not ‘go completely silent on me.’ Did you hear a word I said?”

Lance shook his head. "I was being too loud." 

Keith’s smile softened and he tapped a knuckle against Lance’s forehead. “Well, hush up a minute so I can ask you - you called your apartment to let me do the walkthrough, right? And you remembered to grab your socks from my place? S’pose I could just mail them to you…”

"It's fine. Anything I forgot I'll get when I come home, okay?" 

“‘Home’ huh?” Keith tugged Lance’s hand up to kiss it. “Sure like the sound of that.”

Lance blushed, ducking down into his too-warm jacket. "Yeah. Yeah, okay!" he said louder to hide his embarrassment. "Are you walking me to security, or...?" He didn’t want to ask if this was goodbye yet. 

“‘Course I am. I’d go further if they wouldn’t arrest me, but Shiro might not like getting that call.”

"Sure he's had enough calls in his life already." Lance snorted. "To be honest, so have I.”

The walk from baggage check to security was woefully short; Great for most travelers, but devastating for Lance. Soon, they had run out of tile for Keith to accompany him. 

“Well…” Keith began, trying for the sort of false brightness Lance usually used. “Guess this is our stop.”

Lance accepted his duffle. It weighed heavy in his hands as he looked from Keith to the checkpoint. “I’ll call as soon as I land.”

Keith reached out to tuck a curl behind Lance’s ear. “You’d better.”

“Well…” Lance backed up a step, looked around, and said, “Fuck it.” He dropped the duffle and practically jumped into Keith’s arms, trusting the other man to catch him.

And Keith did. He always did. And something told Lance he always would. 

Keith’s arms were tight and unforgiving as they gripped him close, his breath heavy and damp, his woodsy scent filling the space around them. 

“Be safe,” Keith whispered. “Kick ass at school and come home soon.”

Lance wrapped his legs around Keith's waist and touched their noses together. “I will. Double classes, triple classes.”

Keith nuzzled him and kissed the tip of his nose. “I know you will. Now you better give me a helluva kiss to tide me over, y’hear?”

It was Lance’s pleasure to do just that. He started off with just a peck but quickly turned it into a full kiss - a desperate tidal wave of a kiss. He drank Keith in like he was dying. 

“ _Ahem_ ,” a woman cleared her throat at them.

They turned their heads together to stare at her. Lance couldn’t help his grin. “Sorry, ma’am,” he said in his best impersonation of Keith.

“Pardon,” Keith said at the same time, miming a hat tip to her. “I’m saying goodbye to the most beautiful boy in the world, and I’m not missing a second of it. Excuse us.”

With that, he bounced Lance to readjust his weight and brought him in for another kiss. 

Bittersweet and perfect, Keith’s lips tasted like promises and regret. Lance tried to heal all of Keith’s still open wounds, pouring his whole heart into his answer. The kiss wasn’t deep, but it was heavy with unspoken worry overlaid with hope.

As much as they wanted to, though, kissing couldn’t actually freeze time, and Lance had a flight to catch.

Slowly, Keith lowered him back to his feet, his lashes fluttering open reluctantly. “You better get a move on. Don’t want to be late.”

“Okay.” Lance didn’t move until someone pushed passed him into the line. “I love you.” Grabbing his duffle, he kissed a peck onto Keith’s lips and then ran off into the line before he could change his mind. Like a Band-aid. 

He’d made it through about three turns in the security line before he heard, “Lance, wait! LANCE!”

Lance turned, breath caught in his lungs.

Keith was running, ducking around families and dodging luggage to where the last part of the line snaked its way toward the metal detectors. He reached the vinyl rope barrier, nearly knocking it over as he plowed forward and gripped it. His eyes found Lance, and he grinned. 

“I love you, too,” he panted, then louder, “You hear me? I love you, too!”

“Oh my god,” Lance whispered to himself, grinning. His smile hurt his cheeks as he blew a kiss. “I love you, too, you stupid haystack!”

Flushed and laughing, Keith reached up and caught the kiss like a baseball, pressing it right against his heart. 

How was this man his? He was too perfect. 

Lance squeezed his duffle and waved. He wasn’t going to cry; he refused to cry. This wasn’t goodbye. He’d be coming home -

“Soon,” he mouthed.

He watched Keith walk away as he bit his lip. 

_Home_. What did that word even mean anymore? 

Lance startled when his phone vibrated.

**Haystack (2:47 pm):** Stop standing there, Long Beach. You keep growing roots in the airport and soon I’ll have to give you a different nickname 

And like that, his mood shifted. That’s right - they could talk all they wanted. Lance made it through security, located his gate, found a chair by the window, and shoved his duffle under his feet. 

**(3:04 pm):** I already miss you

**Haystack (3:04 pm):** Don’t suppose you checked your back pocket for any reason, did you? 

**(3:04 pm):** No? 

Lance shifted in his chair to check his pockets.

There was a folded up napkin he didn’t remember leaving there, but otherwise, nothing that was - 

Wait.

Unfolding the napkin revealed a quick little doodle of a pair of lips, and Keith’s distinctive, messy script under it. 

_One for the road,_ it said. _Love, Keith._

Oh no. Lance giggled as he typed, “Who knew out of the two of us you’d be the romantic one.”

**Haystack (3:05 pm):** Now just what is that supposed to mean? 

**(3:07 pm):** That you’re cute :3

Lance watched his battery life dwindle away as he chatted with Keith. He had no idea what he was going to do on a plane for hours without this distraction, or what he was going to do once the thrill of being back in California dwindled back into everyday monotony.

That was something Keith couldn’t seem to understand. California wasn’t this amazing Hollywood place, it was just a place. At least to Lance. The place where he’d grown up and lived and worked shitty part time jobs. A place where he wouldn’t be able to afford anything half as nice as his apartment in Peach Springs. A place where if he wanted to open up a shop it’d cost hundreds of thousands of dollars and would probably go under in a year. If that.

Sure, he loved California, and he missed the food for sure, but it wasn’t some dreamy perfect place. It was just...a place. A very expensive place.

“Now boarding flight 21B for Long Beach. We are now inviting those passengers with small children, and any passengers requiring special assistance, to begin boarding at this time.”

Lance checked his ticket. Group D. He’d be here for a little while. 

**(3:10 pm):** About to board, hope they have snacks

**Haystack (3:10 pm):** I’m sure there’s plenty of rabbit food waiting for y

That was as far as Lance was able to read before an incoming call overtook Keith’s text. It was a local number; not the standard ‘ _have fun, be safe, let us know when you land_ ’ he’d expected from his mother. 

There wasn’t much time before it was his turn. He swiped answer as he grabbed his duffle. Whoever this was, they were interrupting the last few seconds he had with Keith. “Hello?”

“Hello, is this Mister Fuentes?” asked a hurried-sounding woman on the other end.

“Uh, yeah. Who’s this?”

“I’m calling from Ewell County hospital. We have your grandmother here, and as her responsible next of kin, we need you here right away. She’s not doing very well, I’m afraid.”

“I’m about to get on a plane,” Lance said, dumbly. It took even longer for what she’d said to actually sink in. Two seconds without something going sideways, that’s all he wanted.

“I’m sorry, Sir, but it’s urgent. Is there someone else who can come who is legally able to make decisions in Mrs. Fuentes’ stead? If not, we will at least need to be able to contact you regarding the potential of life support.”

“Life support?” Lance backed out of the line and stumbled over a child. The mother was saying something to him but he couldn’t hear. He held up his hand in her face and pressed his phone against his ear until it hurt. “What do you mean life support? How bad is she?”

“Your grandmother suffered a heart attack, hon. I’m afraid it’s pretty touch and go. I promise we’re doing everything we can to get her stabilized.”

“I - um.” Lance couldn’t think between the lady scolding him for her dumbass spawn and the ticking clock of his flight all vying for his attention. “No, I’m - will you shut up!” he yelled at the lady which only seemed to make her more mad. 

“Um, Sir…”

“Sorry, not you. I’m still here.” Lance turned and strode away from the soccer mom throwing a fit. 

“Now boarding section C. Section C, you’re free to board.”

Lance thumped his heart with his fist, trying to calm down, but under the torrent of worry and fear for Lita, there was a current of relief. The relief made him feel like the scum of the earth because he was happy that his grandmother was sick. It was the perfect excuse to stay; no one would be able to argue with him.

“I need to get my baggage, but I’m on my way. Just...do everything you can, okay? Life support permission, whatever. Just do it.”

“Of course. We’ll see you soon.”

“Yeah, soon. Bye.”

He hung up and immediately switched to calling Keith. First he needed to make sure his bags didn’t get on the plane. Hopefully Keith hadn’t gone far. “C’mon, c’mon. Pick up.” 

Keith answered on the third ring. “Couldn’t even wait ‘til you landed, huh?”

“Keith, thank God. Where are you? How far did you get?”

“‘Bout five miles down the road and stopped for gas. Why? What’s wrong?”

Now that he had Keith on the line, Lance burst into action. He strode back into the main part of the airport and headed for the baggage claim. “It’s Lita. She had a heart attack. I know I keep asking for favors - ”

Keith cut him off. “I’m on my way.”

~🌸~

“- and for now, all we can do is wait. I’m sorry, Mr. Fuentes. We’ll do our best, but we strongly advise that you call your family should they wish to be here.” 

The nurse patted his shoulder sympathetically, but otherwise seemed to think it best to give them space. Beside him, Keith’s fists clenched and relaxed, the creak of his leather gloves providing a counterpoint to the rhythmic beeping of various machines. 

It smelled like a hospital - like alcohol and antiseptic, too many flowers, the faint iron tinge of blood and metal. It was nauseating. 

Lance went back to copying and pasting the same message to his family as he texted them one by one. Hunk’s condolences slid across the top of his screen with little previews. Things like “I’m so sorry, man” and “We’ll wait for you, just let us know what you need.” And the whole time he could only concentrate on the knot of guilt growing in his stomach. 

“That’s everyone,” he told Keith as he hit send. Hunks messages were overtaken by replies from his family all at varying levels of concern. 

“Can I get you anything?” Keith asked, reaching for his hand. “Guess we’ll be here a while.”

“A new life.” Lance shook off his hand to sit in his lap instead. Keith welcomed him easily into the overstuffed chair, pulling him down to kiss his hair.

“Listen - you know I’m not the type for false hope, but if anyone is gonna pull through this, it’s Mrs. F. She could stare down a tornado and make it feel bad for being windy.”

Lance nodded against the cotton of Keith’s shirt. “You shouldn’t stay though. Your customers are waiting.”

“Don’t even start with me. I called Stella on my way back to the airport. She grabbed my schedule and put a sign on the door. Sonny’s gonna call everyone and re-book two weeks out for me. I’m not leaving you for a second so don’t even bother trying.” Keith punctuated that oath with another kiss - this one to Lance’s forehead. 

“Keith,” Lance whined.

“Mm?”

“Run away with me. Let’s get out of here forever. No more text messages or bad phone calls or insurance claims. Just me ‘n you ‘n Red and some chickens.”

Keith lifted an amused eyebrow. “Chickens. You’re gonna be a chicken farmer.”

“Goats would be okay, too.”

“Have you ever even been near a goat?”

Lance pouted. “You never took me to the petting zoo at the general store.”

“You mean the pen where the actual goats are kept? Just for the sake of themselves, not specifically for petting?” Keith chuckled, running his fingers through Lance’s short fringe and letting it flop back into place over and over. “It can go to the top of our to-do list, and maybe we can convince Mrs. F to come, too. But I’ll be the first to tell you - you don’t wanna keep goats.”

“Yeah, I guess the reason people keep them is to eat, right? And I’m vegan. Can’t even eat the chicken eggs, actually. Guess I’ll have to stop being vegan so we can run away.”

“Hey.” A gentle finger under his chin lifted Lance’s face so Keith could try to catch his eye. “I know you’re hurting, and this is...I mean, as far as karma goes, this is some pretty extreme bullshit. But you know good stuff follows as much as bad, right? So might as well stay where there’s cherry sodas.”

“I like cherry sodas.”

“I know you do.”

Lance closed his eyes and nosed at Keith’s hand. “I like you.”

Keith chuckled and tapped the tip of his nose. “I like you, too. Quite a bit, turns out.”

“Shut up,” Lance said, hiding himself into the crook of Keith’s neck. “I’m not even supposed to be here.” His confession was on the tip of his tongue. Out of everyone, Keith would understand. He wouldn’t think Lance was awful. Probably.

“I know.” Keith rubbed his back. “And we’ll get all that squared away soon enough. For now, we just gotta take it one step at a time.”

Borrowed time.

Keith’s hands were soothing and he was warm in the frigid air conditioning. It was getting so sleepy in the room. 

Lance didn’t even remember falling asleep. One moment he was talking nonsense with Keith, and then next he was being shaken awake. 

“Your brother is here,” Keith whispered in his ear. 

“So what?” 

“ _So_.” The word came with a soft kiss to the whorl of his ear. “You should probably fill him in. I’d do it for you but…”

Finally opening his eye, Lance pushed off Keith to see his brother hovering over Lita’s bed. 

“Hey,” Lance croaked, voice still thick with sleep. “Why don’t you sit down?”

It was a long night and an even longer morning. His mother arrived with his sisters. His father came a day later with some of his uncles and aunts. With each arrival, the room grew more cramped and Lance had long since lost his chair. 

Still he refused to leave the room, unless forced to by nurses or Keith himself. 

They ate takeout and hospital food and clumped in corners of the room to the steady beat of the heart monitor. 

The day was only broken up by doctor visits and nurse check-ups. Now and then Keith would tap him and tell him it was time to eat. 

Meals were the only times Lance left Lita’s side. The walk down to the cafeteria was long and involved an elevator with shitty piano music. When Lance didn’t feel like walking all the way there to spend way too much money on a salad, they’d walk down the hall to the vending machine. 

On the second day, after a straight 48 hours of half-sleep in chairs and half-washing in the hospital sink, Keith got a text that had him frowning. 

“Be right back,” he murmured to Lance, his voice hoarse with sleep and sour with hospital coffee. 

“What’s wrong?” Lance couldn’t help it; it seemed like there was nothing but bad news every time he turned. 

“Nothin - just gotta make a call, that’s all.”

About fifteen minutes later, Keith was back, but this time he pulled Lance to his feet.

“I know you don’t feel like it,” he soothed, “but you’re gonna want to come down with me.”

Lance grumbled as he stretched out his cramped muscles. “You still haven't told me what’s going on.”

“Not my place to say. I’m just the messenger.” 

Keith led Lance around the side of the hospital to a little sitting area - a memorial garden with a small fountain, some pink azalea bushes, and an iron bench, currently occupied by two people. When they saw Keith and Lance coming, Stella and Kay rose at the same time. 

Almost immediately, Stella had Lance in her arms, squeezing him tight. 

“Hey there, butterbean, how you doin’?” Her voice was soft, lilting, rolling over the word _buddah,_ every syllable laced with warm concern. 

He’d never hugged Stella before and it was a lot like hugging his grandmother when he was younger, only with extra perfume. 

She was quick to hand him over to Kay whose hug was lighter but no less fierce. She stroked his hair until he relaxed into her embrace. With a _pat pat_ she let him go and he didn’t have to fake his smile.

“Hey. You guys can come up and visit, you know. She’s not awake yet but I’m sure she’d like to hear your voices.”

“Oh, we don’t want to crowd, dear. Actually, we’re here for you,” Kay explained, but before she could finish, Stella was already pressing a huge basket into his hands.

“Now I don’t make any promises,” Stella began, fussing with the lid. “But there’s a couple of casseroles and some soup in there. You can freeze them all and just thaw them one at a time. To be honest with you, Sonny made most of it, but they’ve all got his seal of approval for your diet, honey. I just know you boys aren’t eating the way you should.”

“Why?” Lance asked, leaning from the weight of the basket. The wicker pricked his skin as it slipped. 

Stella huffed and put her hands on her hips. “Because you both run yourselves ragged and I know for a fact _that_ lug-” She pointed at Keith, “-lives on nothin’ but Cheetos and Kool-Aid most of the time.”

“Do not,” Keith muttered. 

“Do, too,” Lance countered. With the basket in his arms, he wasn’t fast enough to dodge Keith’s elbow. 

“Hold off on your bickering for a minute longer, you two.” Digging in her purse, Kay pulled out a long envelope and handed it over to Lance. “First, you’ll need to open that.”

Lance handed the basket to Keith who took it with a grunt. The last time he’d gotten an envelope, he was practically shipped out of town. He couldn’t take another plane ticket or some other life changing decision made for him. For once, he wanted to choose for himself.

Untucking the flap revealed a very distinct lack of plane tickets or college acceptance letters. Lance gave a little sigh of relief. His second guess was a get well card and unless they swapped out cards for pieces of paper it wasn’t one of those either. 

Instead, there was a crisp folded letter and a smaller sealed envelope. Lance unfolded it, confusion tight along his brow. 

The letter read:

_Dear Mr. Fuentes_

_The loss of Nemo’s Garden left a scar on Main Street that won’t ever fully heal. Most everybody in town has a memory of passing by and chatting with Mariposa, or having her tie their prom corsages, or opening their stores just to find a flower in their mailbox. When you took over, the old store got a breath of new life, but it was still as much a fixture of our town as Goolrick’s, Hyperion, and the river itself._

_Not a single one of us could sit back and look at that scar without doing something about it._

_On behalf of everyone, we’d like to present you with this check. Last weekend, every vendor at the county fair agreed to donate their proceeds to rebuilding Nemo’s Garden. My daughter Maryanne won the state blue ribbon with her prize cow Clover, and donated every penny as well. We managed to raise about half of what we needed, then Ms. Kay Ryner generously matched us to donate the other half._

_Whatever you decide to do with this, consider it our thanks for all the happy memories you’ve given our town._

_Sincerely,_

_Mayor Tom “Farmer” Greenfield, and the town of Peach Springs_

Wet splotches fell against the black ink as the words blurred. Lance blinked through his tears as he re-read the letter. A hiccup had him covering his mouth as he handed the letter over to Keith who’d put the basket down.

He had no idea how much was in the smaller envelope that clearly held the money, all he knew was he couldn’t take it. “ _Kay._ I can’t. I’m-” _Hiccup._ “I’m leaving. I can’t take this.”

Kay chuckled and bundled him into a damp hug. The perfect softness of her cardigan and starched blouse crinkled against his cheek as she pressed him to her heart. 

“Oh, darling, listen - I’m 81 years old with no children and more money than God. It’s all going to charity anyway, I might as well use some to spoil my surrogate grandson.” She smoothed his hair back and gave him a little squeeze before releasing him. “You don’t have to rebuild the shop if you don’t want to. We just couldn’t stand to see you go without trying to give back a little bit.”

Beside her, Stella nodded. “You’re a local now, honey, no matter where you go, and whether you like it or not. That makes you family, and here, we take care of our own.”

That only made Lance sob harder.

Nothing like this would ever happen in Long Beach. His friends would always be there for him and his family would always support him, but back in California there wasn’t _this_. This kind of community that he’d forged all on his own. A community that accepted and wanted him even if he left. 

For them to do this for Lita or Keith, Lance could understand. But for himself? He grabbed both women by the neck and pulled them into a group hug. “You guys are the worst. I love you.”

Behind him, Keith snorted, but it sounded awfully damp and sniffly. 

Stella kissed his cheek and rubbed his back. “Right back at'cha, darlin’. Keith said Mariposa’s stable for now, right? Why don’t you boys head over to mine and get some sleep. Keith knows where I keep the key. Lord knows you both could use a shower.” 

Kay chuckled. “You said it, not me. Last time I saw two souls looking this rough, I was patching boys up in Vietnam.”

“Rude, Kay. I’m going to remember that the next time you - well. I guess you can’t come to the store anymore. But! Before you start consoling me, I’ll figure it out. So, thank you, both of you. Everyone. Holy shit, it was _everyone_.”

“I know you will.” Kay squeezed his hand before looping her arm through Stella’s. “And you’re welcome. Now we’ll get out of your hair once we pop up and see your grandma.”

Lance grinned through his tears, clutching the envelope. “Thank you, seriously.”

“Shush. Keith, go get your man fed and let him sleep in a real bed.”

Keith nodded at her with a tired smile. “Can do, ma’am. C’mon then, _my man_. Your family can take the reins for a few hours.”

After saying their goodbyes, Keith waited for him to let his family know where they were going, and to introduce them all to Stella and Kay. When Lance came back down, he was completely exhausted - emotionally and physically - and nothing sounded better than a nap. They drove in silence, except for the wicker basket squeaking in Lance’s arms over every bump.

When they arrived at Stella’s, the house was empty of people. It still held the lingering sweetness of Stella’s perfume sunk into every overstuffed couch and floral table runner, but otherwise it was just them, the golden retriever, and the quieting ticking of several bird-themed clocks. 

They showered together and, though it was the first time they’d done so, Lance couldn’t even enjoy it. As exhausted as they both were, they might as well have been watching an all-day marathon of paint drying. Although it was the least sexy shower in existence, afterward he felt much more refreshed. Even Keith looked a little less tired and a little brighter as he playfully tossed his wet towel over Lance’s head. 

With all the food in the fridge and both their phones on silent, they collapsed into the guest bed, bouncing back a little as the springs squeaked. It was a twin bed, much too small for both of them without curling around each other, but it didn’t matter. They would have done so anyway.

In the silent suspension between twilight consciousness and sleep, Keith found Lance’s hand and brought it to his lips.

“Hey, Long Beach.”

“Hm?” Lance hummed, only half-fighting the sleep that was trying to overtake him. It’d been so long since he’d slept in a bed with a pillow.

He could feel the intake of breath, the suspension as Keith held it, and the resolute sigh as he exhaled against Lance’s fingertips. “...Love you. Figured you deserved to hear it properly.”

Lance blinked up at him, not quit winning against his drooping eyelids. “Don’t worry, I’ve heard you say it properly plenty of times. I speak Keith.”

Keith chuckled - a rumbly, warm sound close to Lance’s ear. “Guess that’s good, since I never did finish my degree in the language of flowers.”

“You have time.” Lance snuggled into Keith’s chest, listening to his heartbeat. No matter what happened to him, he always felt so safe in the cradle of Keith’s arms. It was like nothing could hurt him, or if it did, it would always be okay in the end because Keith was there. 

“Sleep tight, Flower Boy.”

“Night, haystack.”

~🌸~

**Four Months Later**

“So, that was when Iverson threw a wholeass desk and then turned into a pine tree and ate all the students.”

“Wow. So did he cancel class?” Lance asked to his phone. 

**Haystack (1:02 pm):** Thinking about you, beautiful. How was class? 

“Yes, Lance. After he ate everyone, class was canceled.”

“Sweet.”

“You’re not listening to me.”

Lance glanced up from his phone and back down. “Yeah, I am. Iverson canceled class, good for you.”

"I don't even know why I try to talk to you when you're texting,” Nyma lamented, popping a grape in her mouth. 

Lance put his phone down and went back to eating his lunch. "Because you love me." 

"Barely."

"You'll love me after I tell you that Red had kittens and I made Keith save you one." 

Nyma _squealed._ “Oh my gosh! Aah! What color??” 

"Black, duh." Lance chuckled. Bypassing his lunch again, he picked up his phone. 

**(1:10 pm):** Nyma practically screamed :3 you better send more pictures of them and my sweet girl or else 

Lance added a few knife emojis just to be sure his point was made. 

**Haystack (1:13 pm):** [image sent]

**Haystack (1:13 pm):** Mulder and Scully opened their eyes yesterday. This one with the white spot keeps trying to bite me. I named it Predator. 

**(1:14 pm):** These are not names that will sell, you gotta name them like mittens or snuggles or booplesnoot, who’s going to buy Predator???

“I would!” 

Lance elbowed Pidge as she slid into place next to him with her tray. “Don’t read over people’s shoulders.”

**Haystack (1:14 pm):**...why are we selling them?

**(1:14 pm):** There’s no way you can keep all of them in your tiny attic, you’re going to have to find them homes

**Haystack (1:15 pm):** Um...about that…

**(1:14 pm):** Keiiiith 

**Haystack (1:15 pm):** What if...I didn’t live in an attic anymore? 

**(1:16 pm):** Oh. Oh! You didn't tell me you got a new place! :(( I thought we told each other everything 

**Haystack (1:16 pm):** Well it’s a surprise! Or it was supposed to be. But you were gonna make me give up my cats. You’ll see it when you get here.

**(1:17 pm):** Nyma is going to be so mad

"Nyma is going to kill you." 

"Pidge!" 

"Why am I killing him? I mean, I don't mind, but a reason is preferable." 

**Haystack (1:18 pm):** She can still have one. Just not Mulder, Scully, or Ogopogo. Or Nostromo. Or Vlad the Impaler. 

“Oh dibs on Ogopogo,” Pidge said, stealing his phone. 

Lance tried to snatch it back but she slipped out of her chair and danced around behind Nyma. 

“You’re typing. Stop typing. What are you saying to Keith?”

Pidge frowned at the phone and typed furiously. 

“Woah, hey!” Lance practically crawled onto the table and snatched his phone back. If Pidge had been paying any sort of attention, she would’ve easily gotten away. “No texting Keith. He’s mine.”

At least he’d taken it back before she’d hit send. It was just her begging for the cat and Keith saying he didn’t trust her maternal instincts, which explained the rant he was currently deleting. 

**(1:25 pm):** Sorry about the gremlin, I’m back, my next class is in a few tho so I gotta go :(((

**Haystack (1:26 pm):** I figured. Miss you in the meantime. Call me after? 

**(1:26 pm):** I’ve got a Facetime date with Lita, but after that, will do. Ilu 💙

**Haystack (1:26 pm):** ❤️

Shoving his phone into his pocket, Lance took his half-eaten wrap with him. He chatted with Nyma and Pidge on the way. 

Nyma was a new addition to their little group, along with her smoking buddy, Rolo. They were both pretty chill and really hot. If he didn't have Keith, he would've tried to date one of them for sure. 

Actually, there were a _lot_ of hot people here, but Lance couldn't get himself to look twice. His heart was back in Peach Springs, and without it, he couldn't do more than appreciate their aesthetic beauty. 

It'd been four long, torturous months. It'd be another two before he could go back. 

Lance was actually quite proud of that. He'd filed for a transfer to Potomac River College. It was in the city outside Peach Springs, which would put him two hours away instead of forever, or however long that flight had been. It meant he could come home on the weekends and crash at his brother’s during the week. It’d be perfect for overseeing his shop’s reconstruction. Unless, of course, he and Keith decided to like, do something crazy and move in together, and Lance bought a car and commuted, but - 

_Anyway_ . Potomac River had a good business program, comparable to COC, _and_ he’d made sure all his classes were transferable. So along with his community college credits, he’d be done next year, but finishing it up back where he belonged.

“Alright, losers,” Pidge said once they stopped outside the classroom door. “See you at dinner. Have fun in The Inside of Your Eyelids 101.”

Nyma fluttered her fingers in an exaggerated goodbye. “Enjoy being jealous our professor is hot and yours smells like old milk.” 

Pidge flipped them off as they disappeared through the door. The only downside to being a business major was that he shared zero classes with Pidge, and Hunk was constantly in a different section of the school altogether. 

Lance snuck in a few texts during class. He usually could, but today must have been a pretty busy day at Area 51. Whatever was happening there had Keith too busy to reply. 

It couldn’t be the girl with a full back piece; she wasn’t due in for color for another two weeks or something. And there was no way it was the calf monsters dude, he wasn’t flying in for his next session for another month. That one was pretty cool, though, and Lance’s current favorite of Keith’s projects. The guy had traveled all the way from Florida to have Keith make a mural of cryptids around both calves. Like - someone flew into tiny-ass Peach Springs just for a tattoo from _his_ boyfriend.

It was possible it was Stella. Kay and Sonny had both bullied her into considering one, and she’d given a tentative yes. Even so, that would usually mean that - 

**Haystack (3:43 pm):** Can’t stop thinking about you. Miss you a lot 

Nevermind, everything was perfect.

**(3:44 pm):** Same, tho, but don’t worry~

[image sent]

  
💙 I got you here :3c 

Lance slipped the resin flower back into the side pocket of his backpack where it lived.

**Haystack (3:45):** Aww. Wish I could be there for real. Give you a kiss for every day you’ve been gone. Think if I wish real hard I could make it happen? 

Lance practically skipped, his whole body unable to contain the excitement of reading that sentence. 

**(3:47 pm):** Do you think you could? I mean your work comes first but I might die if you could, I miss you so much! We could go to the real ocean and I can take you to all the vegan shops you’d hate and you could stay with my family unless you don’t want to, but just to save money, but you’d prob want a hotel that way you don’t have to deal with meeting my family hahaha

**Haystack (3:48 pm):** What would you do if you could see me right now? 

Lance turned to head towards the dorms with a huff. If only. 

**(3:48 pm):** Probably scream :( why are you teasing me? 

**Haystack (3:48 pm):** Just so I know what to expect. Look up. 

“Up?” Lance squinted at his phone like it would tell him why, but when no other messages came through he looked up. It was silly, why would Keith even - “Keith?”

Because - Yep, yes, that was definitely Keith, though he looked a lot less imposing without the leather jacket. His hair was in a loose ponytail, and the blue tank top he’d stolen from Lance made his tattoos stand out even more. He’d stepped out from behind the corner of the math building with a coy smile, and when Lance didn’t move, he gave a little wave. 

“Well, hey there,” he said, in that soft, smooth drawl. “Fancy meeting you here.”

“What, why? What are you doing here?” Lance looked around them as if this was some kind of joke. There was no way Keith was here, in California, next to the math building of his university on a Thursday afternoon.

Keith shrugged. “Told you. I missed you. So I wished real hard, and wouldn’t you know it, here I am.” 

“No!” Lance closed the distance between them, practically slamming into Keith’s chest. “You didn’t even tell me!”

Chuckling, Keith caught him easily and hoisted him up, exactly like he had at the barn party months ago. The rush of it hadn’t changed a bit. 

“Of course I didn’t tell you. That’s kinda the thing about surprises - they’re a surprise.” 

Lance didn’t let Keith put him down; instead, he wrapped his legs around his waist and refused to budge. “But what about work? Your shop? Um, the inspection people. I don’t know. Stella’s appointment?”

“It’s doing well enough. I was actually able to hire an apprentice from the same school I went to. She’s cool, I think you’ll like her. Her name’s Acxa. She’s covering all the easy stuff until I get back. Stella’s been getting your grandma’s input on shop stuff whenever they go out. I gave Stell the rundown; she knows to call me if the contractors need me. And that was just an excuse to explain why she kept popping up in the back of our FaceTime calls.” He pecked Lance on the tip of his nose. “Any other questions or can I kiss you now?”

Keith practically growled when Lance pretended to think about it. Chuckling, Lance let himself slip down to the ground and closed his eyes. “If you don’t, I will.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” Keith murmured against his lips. 

~🌸~

Six months and one semester later Lance was officially transferred to Potomac River College. He’d need to get a new apartment and find a part time job while the shop was finishing up its rebuild and he needed to lavish Keith in kisses, but for now it was Christmas in Peach Springs and he didn’t start classes until the new year. So that last task was the only thing on his mind.

The chill of the South hit him as soon as he stepped off the plane. Even the airport was colder than in California. It bit through his thin jacket and sent goosebumps down his bare legs. 

It felt like home. 

Hunk had sent him off with a box of recipes that he’d handwritten and Pidge had shoved a whole bag of his favorite vegan toiletries into his hands with a ‘miss you’. But it was the group hug that he could still feel as he made his way through the terminal. 

Keith was waiting for him in Baggage Claim - and he wasn’t alone.

Lance grinned. Everyone he loved most in one place.

Mariposa stood from her wheelchair and held her arms out, the sparkly tinsel around her neck making her eyes shine even brighter than her wide smile.

“ _Mi vida!_ ” she called. “Welcome home! Look - we match!”

Sure enough, his boyfriend was gamely sporting his own necklace of blinking tinsel. “I see that!” Lance giggled as he passed through the divide and into the lobby to give Lita a big hug. She smelled like flowers and baked cookies.

“Here - I made one for you. Put it on, put it on,” she insisted, shaking a glittery loop of tinsel at him. “It’s blue, like you like. There was no pink. Keith, I made his red, like his kitty.”

Lance gladly took his and slipped it around his neck. It itched but there was no way he was going to take it off. 

Keith shrugged and puffed out his chest to show it off. “Mrs. F. says it’s my color. We made them during arts and crafts.”

“It looks good on you. You look good on you.”

“Missed you, too.” Keith stole a kiss and tilted his head to whisper, “Mind if I show you just how much a little later on when we’re alone?”

“Yeah,” Lance squeaked and pinched his side. “But you can’t say that in front of Lita.”

“Say what? Speak up,” Lita complained, settling back into her wheelchair. “This Keith of yours, he plays the Christmas music _too quiet_ in the car. How are we supposed to celebrate and sing when no one can hear the jingle bells?”

“You can complain to Lance all the way home,” Keith told her, tucking a blanket back over her legs. “For now, we have to get his bags and get him home for his surprise.”

“I thought my surprise was my pretty necklace.” Lance took up stride next to Keith as they made their way to the baggage claim. The holiday traffic bustled around them, everyone hurrying to flights or hugging long unseen family. 

Among the bustle, Lance relaxed into Keith’s side. Nothing was better than family during the holidays and soon they’d be joined by his brothers and sisters and even his parents. 

Keith put his arm across Lance’s shoulder and pulled him close. “Let’s just say we’ve been pretty busy here in the sleepy South while you were living the high life, Long Beach.” 

“What is it? A big Southern Christmas Cookoff? Poison tomatoes? Some banjos?”

“All that and more.”

It was about an hour’s drive from the airport to Peach Springs, and his grandmother filled every last second of it with happy chatter, catching Lance up on all the latest Nursing Home gossip, her personal caretaker’s love life, what her friend, the jewelry lady was making for the holidays, how Stella was working to make sure there was a vegan section for the Winter Market - all the minutiae that he used to find useless and boring and now made up the patchwork quilt that was _home._

When they dropped Mariposa off at her facility, she gave Lance a big, loud kiss on his cheek and made him promise to visit on Friday, when they would be making ornaments for the massive tree in the middle of Town Square. 

“Next year, you dry some flowers, and we can use them for the tree,” she instructed him. “Talk to Keith. He knows somebody who owns a flower shop. Okay?”

“Yeah, I will, Lita.” He kissed the top of her head and held the door open for her orderly. “I’m pretty excited to check out the local flower shop actually,” Lance confessed to Keith.

Keith grinned, big and boyish. There was no mistaking the excitement in those eyes. “Good, cuz I don’t think I can wait another second. We gotta drop by my place on the way, though.”

Lance let the door close as Lita was wheeled into the rooms. He turned to lace their hands together. Oh God, he’d missed this so much he could cry. 

“That sounds like waiting another second,” Lance said with a teasing lilt. “But I did want to see your new apartment. You’ve been so tight lipped about it.”

“Mm,” Keith hummed, mysterious and noncommittal. “Well, let’s appease your curiosity.”

The drive was short, so clearly Keith had picked something local. A few streets in and Lance actually recognized a few buildings. Downtown Peach Springs was completely transformed for the holidays: wreaths on every lamppost, golden bells strung up on every traffic light, and warm white lights twinkling in every single tree. There was a thin dusting of snow on the ground that made everything twice as festive. 

Snow. Real snow. Not from a snow machine wheeled in for a festival or the soap bubbles they sometimes used down the boardwalk. Real fucking snow, on the actual ground. Lance couldn’t stop staring at it. 

Well, not until they passed - was that the pharmacy?

No, yeah, that - that was definitely Goolrick’s, so they were slowing down on Main Street…? Keith definitely didn’t have much of a commute if this was where he’d chosen to live. But last time Lance was here, there were no apartments or houses on Main Street itself. 

Oh, wait. Lance sat forward in his seat, trying to see down to the other side where his new shop should be under construction. “Did you decide to hit the shop first?” 

“No. Now you gotta close your eyes,” Keith insisted. 

“That’s silly. Just let me see.” Lance was practically bouncing now.

“Lance.”

“What?” He pouted, trying to do his best impression of Red begging for food.

“Come on, don’t spoil it. Close your eyes.”

Lance closed them. “Fine, fine. Just for you.”

Keith pulled his truck over, parallel parking like an expert, as all Peach Springs locals had to be. The engine guttered and went quiet, and Lance could hear Keith close his door and crunch around to the other side.

He opened the door and tugged on Lance’s wrist. “Come on, step down. I won’t let you fall. Keep your eyes closed.”

“Can’t I at least look at the snow?” Lance tried for innocence, but he could feel an impish grin spread across his face.

They shuffled forward a few steps, Keith’s hands firm on his shoulders and his breath quick and excited by Lance’s side. Right when they should have hit the curb, Keith bent close and murmured, “Okay. Open.”

Lance blinked his eyes open and instead of staring at his shop or an apartment building he was staring at the neon sign of Area 51. Only everything was off. Like the whole street had taken a step to the left just to mess with him. 

Then, he realized, it was because Area 51 was no longer the small sliver of black pressed in between the used bookstore and antique shop number one-billion. It was bigger. Much bigger. So big that it rose up all the way to a second story. 

Twinkling lights blinked from a balcony covered in plants and strung across the whole roof. He followed the lights across to golden letters against painted blue.

_Nemo’s Garden._

“What-” 

Keith’s hand dropped from his shoulder and grabbed for Lance’s, lacing their fingers together. “The lady next door wanted to retire, and I just - I saw an opportunity so - anyway, with all that space I was able to renovate the top floor. So there’s a full apartment above the shops. That’s, um. Built for two.”

His voice had gone thin, nervous, and unsure as his breath ghosted in front of them both. “If that’s something you want.”

“Our own place?” Lance stared in awe at Keith. “You want to, with me?”

“Well...yeah.” Keith shifted his weight, burrowing a little into the scarf around his neck. “I told you, Lance - you’re it for me.”

A little apartment above his flower shop with the person he loved next to him. What more could Lance ask for. “Keith this…”

“If you don’t want to, I understand, I just…”

He turned to face Keith, but when Keith wouldn’t meet his eye, Lance pushed his chin out of his scarf with the crook of his finger. “This is the best Christmas present I’ve ever gotten. Of course, I want to live with you.” Excitement bubbled up inside him and he bounced in the snow. “Oh my God, I’m going to live with you!”

Keith smiled - just a little curl at the side of his lips. It grew, and spread, and lit up his eyes, brighter than the lights around them. “...Yeah?”

“Keith, this is a very important question. Please answer honestly.” 

“Uh. Okay?”

Lance stared him down until he was sure Keith was giving him his full attention. Then he swung around to point at the balcony. “Are those my poor babies outside in the cold?”

“No!” Keith insisted. “Those are different babies - plants - whatever. I don’t know, blame Kay, she picked them. Yours are inside our apartment!”

Lance hid his chuckle behind his hand. “It’s unfair how much I love you.”

Keith snorted, but pulled him in by the waist until they were as close as their winter clothes would allow. The leather of his gloves (still fingerless, why were they fingerless in winter) was warm as he cupped Lance’s face and brushed a thumb along his lower lip. 

“How about I spend my time trying to make it up to you?” he asked, before cutting off any chance of an answer by stealing his lips in a kiss.

It was hard to know how long it went on, how long they stood there, kissing in the holly-draped threshold of their newly combined shop, but at some point Lance could feel little pinpricks of cold on his face and hands. 

Still entwined in the kiss, he blinked open to see flecks of snow caught in Keith’s eyelashes. He broke apart and stared up at the sky. “It’s so slow,” he said as he watched the flakes. 

It was nothing like rain, which fell no matter how light a drizzle. Snow seemed almost suspended in the air, so much so that Lance could grab them before they had a chance to decide where to go. 

And it was so quiet. He could hear Keith’s breath, the crunch of their shoes, and the sliding of their clothes against each other with sharp clarity. 

For the first time in Lance’s life, it was snowing in his hometown.

Keith was smiling at him, eyes crinkled and soft and so much livelier than when they’d first met.

“You like it?”

“Yeah. It matches the town. And in a way, it matches you.” Lance brushed a flake from Keith’s hair, his bangs falling back into place after the drag of his finger.

“Yeah?” Keith blew at his bangs. “How’s that?”

“If I tell you, you can’t laugh.”

“Cross my heart.”

Lance slipped his hands into Keith’s jacket and hugged him close. “You both try to run away from me when I grab you.”

Keith regarded him silently for a moment, then the world went sideways as he bent and scooped Lance into his arms. 

Shifting him a little to readjust, Keith touched the frosty tips of their noses together and stole a quick kiss.

“Never again,” he said into the space between them. “I swear.”

Lance breathed in the promise and wrapped his arms around Keith’s neck. “I believe you.”

“Well, good.” Keith grinned. “Cuz it’s about time I took you home.” 

A new life in Peach Springs with Keith; with Lita and her legacy that were part of Lance’s most essential being; With all the people who he considered family: Kay, Stella, Sonny, and even Maryanne and her beautiful, prize-winning cow. 

This was a home he'd built and no one was ever going to take it away from him again. 

Lance rested his head on Keith's shoulder as they passed through the threshold of their combined shops. 

Yeah. As long as he had Keith by his side, even in the middle of winter, the world was pink, like spring. 

~fin~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Autumn: I hope you’ve enjoyed this soft little slice of life story. It meant a lot to both of us for all kinds of reasons, but mostly the love and support you guys have shown. Thank you for sticking around, for your comments, and for keeping us company. See you in the next fic! 
> 
> Sail: Thank you for reading and going on this journey with us! It's hard to say goodbye to this story. It's been a full year in the making and i love it with my whole heart. I cry thinking that you read it and that you've stuck around with us for the whole thing. without you we couldn't be writers and i'm thankful for your support every day. I'm going to miss these boys
> 
> please think about joining us for The Sorcerer and His Dragon Book 2 and Lemon Boys 
> 
> Also consider following us on other platforms!! It helps us get our stories out there!! [Autumn's Twitter ](https://twitter.com/AutumnIgnited) [ Sail's Linktree ](https://linktr.ee/sailunchartedwaters)
> 
> Title art by [Rushire ](https://twitter.com/Rushire_art)  
> Resin Flower art by [jillibean ](https://twitter.com/jillibeeean)


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